LAST  of  We 
KNICKERBOCKERS 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


".G>. 

2.!  3.3 1  <>i 


HAROLD  L. 


The    LAST    of  t  he 
KNICKERBOCKERS 


The   LAST    of  the 
KNICKERBOCKERS 

A  COMEDY  ROMANCE 

BY 

y» 

Herman  Knickerbocker  Viele 

Author  of  The   Inn  of  the 
Silver   Moon 


1  GIVE  MB  FACES  AND  STREETS." 

—WALT  WHITMAN 


Herbert  S.  Stone  6c  Company 

Eldridge  Court,  Chicago 
1901 


COPYRIGHT,     1901,     BY 
HERBERT  S.    STONE  &   CO. 


d 
F.  V.  G. 

fraternellement  et  confraternellment 
H.  K.  V. 

NARRAGANSETT  PIER,  1901 


CONTENTS 


I.  SILHOUETTES  -     i 

II.  IN  BORDERLAND  16 

III.  A  DISH  OF  OLIVES  31 

IV.  AT    THE    TOP    OF    THE    STAIRS  52 

V.  THE  END  OF  A  CENTURY  69 

VI.  REDDENS  LAUDES  DOMINO     -  90 

VII.  THE  YELLOW  SLEIGH       -  -       in 

VIII.  IN  BOWERIE  LANE      -  128 

IX.  STERILIZED  MILK  -       142 

X.  THE  BLACK  SLEIGH    -  153 

XI.  THE  MARK  OF  THE  DOLLAR  -       165 

XII.  MUFFINS  AND  ALLIGATORS     -  182 

XIII.  K.  O.  K.  197 

XIV.  A  LITTLE  LADLE  208 
XV.  FEEDING  THE  OCTOPUS      -  -       221 

XVI.  GREEN  MINT  234 

XVII.  AN  INSTRUCTION  IN  FITS  -       248 

XVIII.  THE  BURDEN  OF  NINEVEH        -  261 

XIX.  MR.  NOBODY  OF  NOWHERE  -       279 

XX.  THE  GENEROSITIES  OF  ANTHONY  299 

XXI.  AT  THE  TOMB  OF  A  BISHOP  309 

XXII.  THE  MARKET  CLOSES  STRONG  323 

XXIII.  THE  LAST       -             -             -  339 


The     LAST    of  the 
KNICKERBOCKERS 


CHAPTER    I 

SILHOUETTES 

The  parlor  windows  of  the  Ruggles  mansion 
look  out  on  Kenilworth  Place  across  the  railings 
of  an  iron  balcony,  wherein  the  sinewy  tentacles 
of  an  old  wistaria  vine  are  interwoven  and  inter 
laced.  There  is  a  street  lamp  directly  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  often  at  dusk,  before  the  shades 
are  drawn,  a  rectangle  of  yellow  light  is  thrown 
on  either  wall  within,  with  the  pattern  of  Notting 
ham  lace  curtains,  and  the  moving  silhouettes  of 
leaves.  Then,  for  a  time,  the  long,  high,  shad 
owy  room  takes  on  some  measure  of  its  ancient 
dignity;  for  a  time  the  heavy  cornices  and  lofty 
doors  of  red  mahogany  become  once  more  sig 
nificant  of  grace  and  beauty,  which  things, 
expressed  in  hieroglyphics  at  the  best,  change 
only  in  their  symbols. 

It  is  late  afternoon  and  late  November  and  in 
Kenilworth  Place  a  fine,  cold  rain  driving  from 
Broadway  foretells  good  luck  for  those  who  are 
to  dine  at  home.  For  already  upon  the  balcony 


2        The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

and  the  vine,  and  along  the  area  railings,  and  on 
the  bare,  black  branches  of  the  one  ailanthus 
tree  the  first  fringes  of  winter  icicles  are  begin 
ning  to  form,  and  passers-by  step  gingerly  or  take 
short,  cautious  slides. 

Within,  the  squares  of  yellow  light  are  bright 
upon  the  walls,  and  the  Nottingham  lace  patterns 
well  defined.  Also  a  most  unflattering  pattern  of 
Miss  Alida  Van  Wandeleer,  who  is  at  the  window. 

Alida  is  aware  of  the  opening  of  a  red  mahog 
any  door,  and  rightly  supposes  her  godmother  to 
have  come  into  the  parlor.  She  even  fancies 
herself  aware  of  a  sudden  breath  of  the  foggy 
outdoor  atmosphere  entering  at  the  same  time, 
and  the  faint  suggestion  of  black  dye,  inseparably 
associated  in  her  mind  with  Miss  Caroline  De 
Wint.  But  knowing  her  own  conversational 
chances  to  be  small  when  her  mother  and  Cousin 
Caroline  meet  after  several  hours'  separation,  she 
does  not  leave  her  place  behind  the  hanging  cur 
tains.  Besides,  Van  Wandeleer  traditions  do 
not  encourage  self-assertion  in  the  young,  and 
Alida  is  proud  of  her  reverence  for  tradition, 
when  at  home. 

"Josephine,"  began  Miss  De  Wint,  severely, 
"why  don't  you  ring  for  lights?  This  room  is  as 
dark  as  a  furniture-van,  and  as  full  of  footstools. 
One  cannot  take  a  step  without  kicking  some 
thing." 


Silhouettes  3 

"Oh,  Caroline,"  a  voice  rejoined  irrelevantly, 
a  carefully  modulated  voice  no  less  agreeable 
because  the  R's  were  just  a  trifle  indistinct,  "I 
have  been  trying  to  recall  who  Serena  Laurens 
was  engaged  to  before  she  married  Schepmoes. " 

Mrs.  Valentine  Van  Wandeleer  reclined  in  a 
low  arm-chair  before  a  high  black  marble  mantel 
piece,  in  whose  depths  the  single  eye  of  an  expir 
ing  fire  waxed  dim  and  glassy.  In  profile  against 
the  window  her  clear  cut  features  beneath  a  stiff 
diminutive  widow's  cap  suggested  the  portrait, 
in  black  paper,  of  somebody's  great-grand 
mother,  taken  on  a  silver  wedding  anniversary. 
But  from  the  ribbon  collar  downward  to  the  tip 
of  a  pointed  slipper  the  outline  was  distinctly 
modern,  and  the  gesture  employed  to  raise  a 
lorgnette  to  her  eyes  was  as  contemporaneous  as 
it  was  unnecessary. 

"What  put  her  in  your  head?"  demanded  Miss 
De  Wint,  alluding  to  Serena.  She  had  with  little 
difficulty  found  the  massive  sofa,  drawn  across 
two  folding  doors — also  of  red  mahogany — and 
now  sat  tentatively  thereupon,  as  one  who  has 
not  far  to  go  sits  in  a  public  vehicle,  her  hands 
thrust  in  a  marten  muff,  from  which  protruded 
several  packages. 

"Her  daughter  called  this  afternoon,"  ex 
plained  the  lady  of  the  chair.  "Rather  a  pretty 
girl,  I  thought,  if  her  eyes  were  not  so  close 


4       The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

together,  but" — Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer  lowered 
her  voice  discreetly — "not  at  all  the  sort  of  girl 
I  should  like  Alida  to  see  much  of.  It  seems  she 
supports  herself.  How,  heaven  only  knows!  And 
her  mother  is  in  a  Home  for  Gentlewomen. 
Fancy  Serena  in  a  Home  for  Gentlewomen!" 

"I  can't,"  responded  Miss  De  Wint.  "Who 
else  was  here?" 

"Lucy  De  Voe  came  early  and  stayed  ever 
so  long." 

"Poor,  dear  Lucy!  I  suppose  she  was,  as 
usual,  most  depressing. " 

"Yes;  she  has  gone  to  live  in  Brooklyn,  and  of 
course —  '  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer  shook  her  head 
and  sighed,  significantly. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"I  only  had  a  dollar,  and  that  was  in  small 
change." 

"Poor,  dear  Lucy!"  said  Miss  De  Wint  again; 
"they  used  to  be  so  comfortable  before  her  father 
died,  and  the  Guardian  and  Trustee  company 
took  charge  of  her  affairs." 

"Yes,  she  is  like  the  rest  of  us,  only  worse 
off,"  the  other  sighed,  dejectedly.  "Last  quar- 
terday  she  did  not  even  get  one-half  of  one  per 
cent.  Some  mortgage  turned  out  badly,  I  be 
lieve,  and  of  course  it  happened  to  be  hers.  Next 
time  it  may  be  yours  or  mine." 

The  passenger  upon  the  sofa  did  not  reply  at 


Silhouettes 


5 


once,  but  stroked  her  marten  muff  reflectively. 
Through  an  open  register  a  Celtic  voice  ascended 
from  below  in  song,  and  with  it  came  the  faint 
first  fumes  of  soup.  After  a  moment  Miss  De 
VVint  remarked:  "I've  found  a  place  where  they 
clean  gloves  for  eight  cents  a  pair." 

It  was  a  practice  with  Caroline  De  Wint  to 
dismiss  unpleasant  topics  by  an  announcement 
sufficiently  startling  for  the  purpose,  and  she 
boasted  of  having  cured  seasickness  with  the 
simple  sentence,  "Guess  who's  dead!"  In  an 
extreme  case  of  marital  infelicity  she  had  not 
hesitated  to  kill  the  Bishop. 

But  the  Van  Wandeleer 'afternoon  at  home  had 
had  its  brighter  moments,  as  presently  appeared. 
Mrs.  Norris  had  called,  and  other  of  the  below 
Fourteenth  Street  colony.  And  Colonel  Vander- 
lyn,  who  told  of  his  Long  Island  gold  mine  while 
eating  all  the  bread  and  butter  sandwiches;  and 
old  Doctor  Roorda,  who  was  most  amusing, 
though  more  disgracefully  untidy  than  ever. 

"And  of  course,"  concluded  Mrs.  Van  Wande 
leer,  "there  were  a  number  of  Alida's  friends. 
New  people,  whose  names  mean  absolutely  noth 
ing,  and  frightfully  overdressed." 

"And  young  men?"  inquired  Alida's  god 
mother,  with  interest. 

"Oh,  dear  no,"  replied  Alida's  mother;  "new 
young  men  have  no  time  to  call.  They  are  in 


6       The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Wall  Street,  making  deals  and  things.  A  pleas 
ant  outlook  for  their  wives  and  children." 

"When  one  thinks  of  the  Guardian  and  Trustee 
company,  and  the  Home  for  Gentlewomen," 
began  Miss  De  Wint — but  even  the  pleasure  of 
differing  with  Josephine  brought  no  warmth  to  a 
defense  of  the  new  people. 

Meanwhile  Alida,  impatient  perhaps  of  pro 
longed  neglect,  took  up  the  burden  of  the  register. 

"There's  always  something  doing 

When  O'Malley's  at  the  bat," 
she  hummed  softly  behind  the  curtains. 

"Alida,"  said  her  mother,  "do  ring  for  Mary 
to  light  the  gas,  she  seems  to  have  forgotten  it." 

"Mary  is  busy  just  at  present,"  replied  Alida, 
meekly. 

"How  can  you  possibly  know  what  she  is 
doing?" 

"I  saw  the  fishman  go  down  the  area  steps  five 
minutes  ago,  and  Mary  is  attentive  to  the  fish 
man. " 

"Oh,  my  dear  child!"  protested  Miss  De  Wint, 
in  tolerant  reproof. 

"I  wish  you  would  not  notice  her,"  the  other 
whispered;  "she  has  been  lunching  with  those 
Brisbanes  again,  and  I'm  sure  they  teach  her 
dreadful  things." 

"If  they  are  not  proper  people  for  her  to 
know — "  began  the  godmother. 


Silhouettes  7 

"Oh,  no,  I  should  not  go  as  far  as  that,"  the 
mother  interrupted,  hurriedly. 

"Which  burner  shall  I  light,  mother?"  inquired 
Alida,  who  had  drawn  an  ottoman  beneath  the 
chandelier  and  was  prepared  to  mount  upon  it. 
"The  one  that  wheezes  or  the  one  that  spits?" 

"I  told  you  to  ring  for  the  servant,"  replied 
her  mother,  icily. 

"Fudge!"  said  the  lady  on  the  sofa,  with  asper 
ity,  for  it  was  a  conviction  with  her,  as  old  as 
Alida  herself,  that  only  through  an  oversight  had 
Providence  permitted  motherhood  to  Josephine 
Van  Wandeleer.  "Come  here  and  sit  beside  me, 
child,  and  tell  me  all  about  those  Brisbane 
people.  How  long  have  you  known  them,  where 
did  you  meet  them,  and  who  are  they,  any 
how?" 

Alida  dutifully  took  the  unoccupied  end  of  the 
long  sofa. 

"Oh,  Bessie  and  I  have  been  friends  ever  since 
last  spring,"  she  said,  "and  I  suppose  that  is 
why  her  father  and  mother  like  me.  You  see 
they  have  only  lived  here  a  few  years  and  have 
not  many  friends." 

"They  are  tremendously  rich,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Van  Wandeleer,  to  supplement  her  daughter's 
meager  facts. 

"Yes,  mother,  regular  plutocrats,  but  not  so 
long  ago  he  was  just  a  country  editor." 


8       The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"That  was  respectable  at  least,"  graciously 
commented  Miss  De  Wint.  "And  what  was 
she?" 

"I  think  she  was  a  Bean,"  replied  Alida. 

"A  what?" 

"A  Bean,"  repeated  Alida,  with  pronounced 
composure,  "or  a  Beed,  I'm  not  quite  certain 
which." 

"It  doesn't  make  much  difference,"  sniffed 
her  godmother.  "Did  you  have  a  pleasant  lunch, 
or  did  they  begin  with  terrapin,  and  shriek  like 
locomotives?" 

"No,  it  was  just  like  any  other  lunch — I 
helped  to  order  it;  but  I  should  have  liked  it 
better  if  every  one  had  not  spent  the  summer 
abroad  and  taken  it  for  granted  that  everybody 
else  went  over  every  year." 

"To  think  of  it,"  sighed  Miss  De  Wint. 
"Why,  Josephine,  when  we  were  girls,  Europe 
was  the  finishing  touch  to  one's  education. 
Then  children  were  prepared  for  travel  as  they 
were  for  confirmation,  and  I'm  sure  it  did  them 
much  more  good." 

"Oh,  Cousin  Caroline!"  protested  Alida,  un 
justly  scenting  sacrilege,  but  her  sponsor  went 
on  unheeding. 

"Before  I  went  abroad  with  papa  and  mama 
we  spoke  French  at  table  for  six  months.  Just 
for  the  literature,  of  course ;  nice  girls  never  so 


Silhouettes  9 

much  as  looked  at  foreigners.  Dear  papa  disliked 
them  all,  and  used  to  speak  of  Burke  as  the 
Beerage.  I  wonder  what  he  would  have  called 
the  exotics  in  society  to-day." 

"Why,  the  Steerage,  I  suppose,"  suggested 
Alida.  For  this  she  was  rewarded  with  an  ap 
proving  pat,  and  the  appearance  of  Mary  entering 
with  belated  energy,  made  further  conversation 
for  the  moment  unadvisable. 

"Murder!"  exclaimed  that  menial  in  the  dark 
ness.  But  it  was  a  fashion  of  speech  rather  than 
a  note  of  alarm,  and  betokened  nothing  worse 
than  sudden  contact  with  the  misplaced  ottoman. 

"Do  try  to  be  more  quiet,"  admonished  Mrs. 
Van  Wandeleer. 

"Sure  you'd  holler  yourself  if  it  was  your  leg. " 

"Please  light  the  gas  and  go  away  at  once." 

"Faith,  I'll  not  intrude  me  company  where  it's 
not  wanted,"  returned  the  handmaiden,  and  the 
closing  door  announced  her  words  to  be  no  empty 
vaunt. 

"Oh,  this  is  too  humiliating!"  cried  Mrs.  Van 
Wandeleer,  erect  and  tremulous.  "Caroline,  I 
do  not  feel  that  I  can  remain  in  this  wretched 
house  another  day." 

"Josephine,  you  are  a  fool,"  said  Miss  De 
Wint,  as  one  who  recalls  a  truism.  "You  speak 
to  other  people's  servants  as  though  they  were 
your  own  and  you  had  a  hundred.  You  forget 


io     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

that  things  are  not  with  any  of  us  as  they  used 
to  be." 

"I  hope  I  shall  never  forget  my  position,  or 
what  is  due  to  it." 

"Fudge!" 

"You  may  remain  here  if  you  like." 

"I  shall,"  said  Miss  De  Wint,  "and  so  will 
you.  I  have  no  doubt  Bella  Ruggles  will,  if  you 
ask  it,  dismiss  Ann  at  once." 

"Mary,"  corrected  Alida. 

"How  long  since?"  inquired  Cousin  Caro 
line. 

"Monday,  I  think." 

"If  Bella  Ruggles  had  one  atom  of  dignity  her 
servants  would  not  be  so  uniformly  careless  and 
impertinent,"  lamented  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer. 

"Poor  Bella,"  Miss  De  Wint  rejoined;  "if  she 
had  had  an  atom  of  common  sense  when  Ruggles 
offered  himself  she  would  not  to-day  be  keeping 
a  boarding-house,  and  we  should,  I  suppose,  be 
living — " 

"At  Italian  tables  d'hote,"  put  in  Alida,  see 
ing  her  sponsor  hesitate  upon  the  brink  of  degra 
dation,  "like  the  Cafe  Chianti,  in  grandfather's 
old  house,  where  they  have  music  and  charge 
only  fifty  cents,  including  wine." 

Cousin  Caroline  stroked  her  muff  in  silence, 
and  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer,  leaning  forward,  poked 
the  fire,  which  promptly  yielded  up  the  ghost. 


Silhouettes  1 1 

Clearly  the  suggestion  had  not  been  a  happy  one, 
and  Alida,  with  a  view  to  mending  matters, 
waited  awhile  before  inquiring,  thoughtfully: 
"Mother,  how  many  of  our  ancestors  are  buried 
in  St.  Mark's?" 

"Four,"  replied  her  mother,  sadly. 

"Six,"  corrected  Miss  De  Wint.  "The  first 
De  Wint  there  was  Peterus,  you  know." 

"We  should  not  count  him,  Caroline;  we  are 
not  at  all  sure  that  grave  is  really  his." 

"Then  whose  else  could  it  possibly  be?"  de 
manded  Miss  De  Wint,  which  argument,  being 
unanswerable,  was  to  her  mind  conclusive,  and 
Peterus,  dead  two  centuries  and  more,  became  a 
living  issue. 

In  life  he  had  been  a  mighty  miller  and  braved 
the  wilds  of  Union  Square  till  the  Indians  burned 
his  mill  and  laid  waste  his  bowerie — the  proto 
type  of  a  line  of  windmill  builders  whose  works 
were  ashes. 

Alida  privately  held  more  with  the  Van  Wan- 
deleers,  one  Valentine  in  particular,  Justice  and 
Farmer  of  Taxes,  who  owned  an  interest  in  the 
good  ship  Golden  Ox,  but  she  found  it  policy  to 
burn  her  joss  sticks  on  the  graves  of  the  De 
Wints. 

"Isn't  it  odd  we  have  so  few  relations,"  she 
remarked,  as  the  conversation  grew  securely 
genealogical,  "when  the  directory  is  teeming 


12     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

with  us? — undertakers,  stevedores,  ministers,  and 
salt  fish." 

"Many  of  the  early  settlers  had  good  reason 
to  change  their  names,"  explained  her  god 
mother,  "and  naturally  they  chose  distinguished 
ones.  The  laws  about  such  things  were  rather 
lax." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  Aiida  assented,  but  the  tone 
betrayed  uneasiness.  For  discussion  headed 
now  directly  toward  the  vaults  of  Tiffany's 
where  lay  the  Tankard  and  the  Spoon,  heirlooms 
whose  final  disposition  was  ever  a  source  of  anxi 
ety  to  Cousin  Caroline. 

"I'm  going  to  light  the  gas,"  she  suddenly 
announced,  "and  show  you  my  new  dress." 

When  the  first  jet  from  hissing  like  an  adder, 
had  been  calmed  into  reluctant  service,  Alida 
lighted  another  and  another,  till  the  circle  was 
complete  and  hung  above  her  head  a  luster  of 
pendant  incandescent  prisms,  vibrating  gently 
and  giving  out  faint  tinkling  notes.  About  the 
ancient  drawing-room  a  thousand  shabbinesses, 
invisible  by  day,  became  apparent;  dull,  pattern- 
less  places  on  the  flowered  carpet;  frayed  edges 
on  the  red  rep  furniture;  stains  on  the  ceiling, 
and  on  the  ponderous  frames  of  family  por 
traits  the  scars  of  many  mendings.  In  the  midst 
of  it  Alida,  standing  on  the  ottoman,  posed 
openly. 


Silhouettes  13 

"Dear  me,  child,"  cried  Miss  De  Wint,  "how 
well  you  look!" 

The  effect  had  not  been  badly  managed,  but 
Alida  needed  neither  contrast  nor  the  accidents 
of  rich  attire.  At  twenty  she  asked  nothing  of 
the  universe  but  light.  Youth  and  health  she 
had,  and  an  abounding  love  of  life;  and  for  the 
rest  some  dozen  master  strokes  of  line,  that 
nature  knows  so  well  and  guards  so  meanly,  have 
made  her  what  she  is.  Those  who  have  called 
her  more  than  pretty  have  had  her  hair  in  mind; 
and  as  she  stands  now  against  the  red  mahogany 
of  the  door,  this  melts  into  its  background  as 
though  a  brush  had  drawn  the  tones  together. 
Only  the  small  unruly  cowlick  on  her  forehead 
mercifully  saves  it  from  being  beautiful. 

Alida,  neither  tall  nor  short,  nor  dark  nor  fair, 
has  yet  the  gift,  intangible  as  beauty,  of  putting 
those  who  vary  from  her  standard  at  a  disadvan 
tage.  Also  another  gift,  intangible  as  truth;  the 
aura  which  is  the  heritage  of  women  born  between 
the  Three  Rivers.  One  meeting  her  anywhere 
upon  the  planet  would  say  at  once,  New  York. 
The  carriage  of  her  head  would  be  enough — her 
step — the  buttoning  of  a  glove — to  bring  before 
the  eyes  some  reach  of  sunny  avenue;  an  arch, 
blue  in  the  distance;  twin  spires,  rosy  in  the  sun; 
the  red  brick  fabric  of  a  newer  Babel,  laughing 
at  tradition,  daring  art  to  follow.  And  such  a 


14     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

one,  if  blessed  with  the  sublime  provincialism  that 
marks  the  metropolitan,  must  feel  a  slight  con 
traction  in  the  throat. 

The  dress,  in  color  that  of  faded  oak  leaves, 
with  touches  here  and  there  of  turquoise  blue 
and  silver,  was  in  its  way  a  marvel,  breathing  the 
latest  cry  of  fashion,  even  the  cry  half  formed 
upon  the  lips  of  fashion.  It  had  arrived  that 
morning  in  time  for  Bessie  Brisbane's  luncheon. 
Madame  Bazet  had  had  it  thrown  upon  her  hands, 
and  begged  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  to  accept  it  as 
a  token  of  esteem,  and  in  memory  of  Felise,  who 
had  done  her  mother's  hair  when  dinners  in  her 
grandfather's  old  house  might  not  be  had  for  fifty 
cents.  Perhaps,  if  any  one  should  chance  to  ask, 
Miss  Van  Wandeleer  would  not  withhold  the 
maker's  name — mats  ce  nest  pas  de  quoi,  chtre 
mademoiselle.  It  was  through  such  ventures  that 
the  worthy  Gaul  acquired  real  estate  in  the 
Borough  of  the  Bronx. 

Alida's  dress  is  paid  for  ten  times  over, 
but  she  does  not  know  it.  Neither  does  she 
know  that  at  the  Brisbane  luncheon  she  set 
afloat  a  ship  of  dire  bewilderment  for  Arnold's 
clerks. 

"What  shade  is  that,  my  dear?"  her  hostess 
had  called  across  the  table;  and  Alida,  taking 
little  thought,  replied,  "Oh,  I  should  call  it 
candle-moth." 


Silhouettes  1 5 

"Of  course,"  replied  the  other,  and  there 
arose  twelve  who  called  it  "candle-moth. " 

"You  had  better  take  it  off,"  said  Cousin  Caro 
line,  when  the  exhibition  was  at  an  end.  "It 
must  be  nearly  dinner  time." 

"Oh,  I  shall  keep  it  on  for  dinner,"  Alida 
answered,  lightly.  "It  will  annoy  Mrs.  Van 
Gaasbeck  so,  especially  if  her  son  should  speak 
to  me  by  any  chance." 

"But  those  stupid  servants  so  often  forget  that 
gravy  is  a  liquid,"  began  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer, 
feebly. 

"Josephine,  my  dear,  why  can't  you  let  the 
poor  child  have  a  little  pleasure?"  demanded 
Cousin  Caroline,  who  had  been  about  to  raise  a 
like  objection.  "I'm  going  up  to  dress,  and 
unless  you  mean  to  wear  your  best  cap  in  honor 
of  Grace  Van  Gaasbeck,  I  suggest  that  you  come, 
too." 

"Alida,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer,  as  she  left 
the  room,  "if  I  have  dropped  anything,  please 
pick  it  up." 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  BORDERLAND 

Alida,  alone  with  the  Ruggles  family  portraits, 
looked  about  her  and  found  their  company  dis 
tinctly  dull.  Above  the  square,  fat-legged  piano 
Chancellor  De  Vos,  who  had  in  life  been  Mrs. 
Ruggles's  honored  sire,  held  a  dull  book  half 
open,  threateningly;  over  the  chimney-piece  a 
Lady  with  a  Rose,  attributed  to  Sully,  pleaded 
for  varnish.  Elsewhere,  sundry  gentlemen  in 
stocks  appeared  to  strangle,  and  in  the  single 
landscape  of  the  Hudson  River  School,  the  sloops 
lay  hopelessly  becalmed.  In  the  Brisbane  house 
on  Park  Avenue  there  were  electric  lights  and 
flowers  and  pictures  that  laughed  and  said  amus 
ing  things.  But  not  for  a  moment  did  it  occur 
to  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  that  Bessie  could  be 
envied. 

By  and  by,  after  dinner,  the  Ruggles  parlor 
would  be  duller  still.  Then  seven  elderly  ladies, 
each  on  her  own  pre-empted  claim  of  faded  rep, 
would  crochet  and  count  stitches,  and  recall 
enchanting  evenings  glorified  by  time.  And 
when  the  prismatic  chandelier  had  done  its  work 
of  partial  asphyxiation  they  would  yawn  dis- 
16  * 


In  Borderland  17 

erectly  and  go  off  reminiscently  to  bed.  Then 
Alida,  who  had  refused  a  seat  in  Mrs.  Norris's 
box  because  she  accepted  but  one  in  three  of 
Mrs.  Norris's  invitations,  would  also  go  to  bed, 
at  half-past  ten.  Bessie  Brisbane,  at  that  hour, 
would  have  but  to  rub  one  of  her  many  rings  and 
almost  anything  might  happen.  But  not  for  all 
the  rings  between  the  Marble  Arch  and  Murray 
Hill  would  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  admit  her  lot  in 
life  the  less  desirable. 

Outside  the  window  the  freezing  rain  still  fell. 
But  now  the  sidewalks  were  undulating  with 
umbrellas  and  noisy  with  clamor  of  many  tongues 
let  loose.  For  it  was  quitting  time  in  the  work 
shops,  and  in  the  streets  beginning  time,  and  to 
a  million  the  morning  of  a  little  day  of  conscious 
individuality.  Alida  always  watched  this  ebb 
draw  out  to  east  and  west  with  a  healthy,  human 
curiosity,  and  sometimes  with  an  interest  that 
grew  intensely  personal.  Between  her  and  the 
great  procession  there  was  each  evening  but  the 
thickness  of  a  plate  of  glass;  between  her  and  it 
on  quarterdays,  one-half  of  one  per  cent.  And 
sometime  it  might  stretch  a  pace  to  make  room 
for  her.  She  had  no  misgivings  that  Manhattan 
could  refuse  the  Van  Wandeleers  a  share  of 
marketable  beaver  skins  should  they  require  it; 
and  besides  the  people  in  the  street  did  not 
appear  unhappy. 


1 8     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Opposite  a  girl  clinging  to  a  railing  shrieked 
in  simulated  terror  while  another  urged  her  on  to 
feats  of  daring  on  the  icy  flags.  Then  two  young 
men  stood  still  to  offer  counsel  and  advice. 
When  presently  the  four  went  laughing  on  their 
way  together,  Alida  pressed  her  nose  against  the 
pane  to  watch  them  out  of  sight.  A  boy  with 
evening  papers  wrapped  in  black  tarpaulin  did 
a  thriving  trade,  and  between  transactions  took 
large  bites  from  a  pie.  A  man  climbed  the  lamp 
post  to  light  a  cigarette. 

Now  and  then  some  scrap  of  conversation 
became  distinct,  indifferent  jokes  about  the 
weather. 

"I'm  going  down  to  Coney  Island."  "Ain't 
you  afraid  of  mosquitos?"  Admonitions  to  walk 
faster.  "Hurry  up!"  "Come  along!"  Hurry 
for  what?  Come  along  where?  No  matter; 
hurry!  Come!  Under  the  rain  and  sleet  and 
the  ceaseless  countermarch  of  black  umbrellas 
beat  the  brave  heart  of  the  city;  and  Alida, 
with  the  sense  of  living  at  the  source  that  is  the 
burgher's  birthright,  felt  the  thrill  of  it,  its  great 
imperishable  hope,  its  infinity  of  possibility. 

Turning  from  the  window  she  went  to  the 
piano,  fat-legged  and  square,  beneath  the  por 
trait  of  Chancellor  De  Vos.  The  keys  were 
yellow  that  had  once  been  white,  and  of  the  black 
more  than  one  remained  permanently  down  as 


In  Borderland  19 

though  the  ghost  of  an  old-time  mazurka  lingered. 
As  she  drew  her  finger  across  the  board  the 
sound  was  not  unlike  that  of  a  harp,  not  by  any 
means  a  well-tuned  harp,  but  sound  is  only  un 
trained  music,  and  music  only  harnessed  sound ; 
and  both  are  better  company  than  silence  when 
one  is  young.  Alida  gave  the  stool  a  twist. 

"  There's  always  something  doing 
When  O'Malley's  at  the  bat," 

she  sang  softly,  though  with  spirit. 

Her  music,  which  came  by  nature  as  she  said, 
made  up  in  naive  audacity  for  many  technical 
defects,  and  the  song  was  in  a  way  a  reflex  of  the 
crowded  sidewalk,  and  in  a  way  a  protest  against 
Chancellor  De  Vos. 

After  O'Malley  came  a  Coon  song,  an  idyl  of 
Sullivan  Street  and  Seventh  Avenue,  of  razors 
and  ragtime,  and  staccato  imitations  of  the  banjo. 
Though  the  humor  that  impelled  it  was  of  short 
duration  there  had  been  time  while  the  selection 
lasted — so  Alida  reflected  later — for  any  number 
of  persons  to  have  come  into  the  room  unheeded. 

"Oh  li'l  lamb  out  in  de  col', 
De  Mastah  call  you  to  de  fol'. 
O  li'l  lamb!" 

Alida  sang  now  almost  inaudibly,  for  she  was 
singing  to  herself,  as  a  child  sings  to  itself  or  to 
a  doll. 


2o     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"  O  Shepud  I's  a-comin'  quick — 
O  li'l  lamb!" 

When  the  song  was  ended  she  played  the  re 
frain  again  and  once  again  more  softly,  pretend 
ing,  with  one  small  bronze  foot  upon  the  pedal 
of  the  old  piano,  that  some  dusky  singer  passed 
slowly  out  of  hearing,  passed  out  of  sight  through 
cypress  alleys  where  moss  hung  trailing  over 
head  ;  across  a  bridge  and  on  toward  the  quarters. 

"O  li'l  lamb!" 

Then  presently  some  words  came  to  her  that 
she  had  found  in  the  corner  of  a  Sunday  paper 
and  set  to  an  odd  accompaniment  of  her  own 
invention.  A  critic  would  have  found  little  to 
commend  in  either  verse  or  music,  but  happily 
one  does  not  always  sing  for  critics. 

"  And  have  you  been  to  Borderland? 

Its  country  lies  on  either  hand 
Across  the  river  I-forget. 

One  crosses  by  a  single  stone, 

So  narrow  one  must  cross  alone, 
And  all  around  its  waters  fret, 
The  laughing  river,  I-forget. 

"  Beneath  the  trees  of  Borderland, 
One  seems  to  know  and  understand, 

Across  the  river  I-forget, 
All  languages  of  men  and  birds, 
And  all  the  sweet,  unspoken  words 

One  ever  missed  are  murmured  yet 

By  that  kind  river,  I-forget. 


In  Borderland  21 

"  Some  day  together,  hand  in  hand, 
I'll  take  you  there  to  Borderland, 

Beyond  the  river  I-forget. 
Some  day,  when  all  our  dreams  come  true — 
One  kiss  for  me  and  one  for  you — 

We'll  watch  the  red  suns  sink  and  set 

Across  the  river  I-forget." 

Somewhere  in  the  last  line  Alida  became  con 
scious  of  a  pair  of  eyes  regarding  the  back  of  her 
head.  But  there  is  a  doubt  as  to  whether  this 
occult  perception  followed  or  came  after  a  slight 
cough  from  the  direction  of  the  sofa,  so  nearly 
did  the  two  occur  together. 

Alida  waited  for  the  first  cold  chill  of  surprise, 
annoyance,  and  chagrin  to  pass,  then  turning 
slowly  upon  the  piano  stool,  composed  herself  to 
encounter  any  presence  whatsoever,  from  the 
shade  of  Chancellor  De  Vos  to  the  actuality  of  a 
misplaced  telegraph  boy. 

But  that  which  she  encountered  was  naturally 
the  thing  for  which  she  had  been  least  prepared ; 
a  man;  a  stranger;  apparently  young,  undoubt 
edly  good  looking,  and  presumably  in  the  flesh, 
though  for  the  moment  he  made  no  effort  to  estab 
lish  the  fact.  In  a  corner  of  the  red  rep  sofa  he 
had  the  air  of  one  who  had  discovered  its  possi 
bilities  for  comfort,  but  the  shoulders  of  a  long 
grey  overcoat  still  glistened  with  the  outdoor 
wet,  as  did  also  a  soft  felt  hat  upon  his  knees. 
His  trousers  were  turned  up  at  the  bottoms,  and 


22     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

his  boots,  which  were  bright  considering  the 
weather,  had  noticeably  heavy  soles.  Further, 
without  directly  looking,  Alida  gathered  an  im 
pression  of  dark  hair  cut  shorter  than  prevailing 
taste  demanded,  and  a  loosely  tied  cravat  that 
might  have  distressed  an  observant  sister. 

It  was  probably  a  matter  of  seconds  that  they 
sat  thus  facing  one  another,  but  it  seemed  much 
longer.  -The  gas  buzzed  pertinaciously,  and  gave 
forth  intermittent  flares  and  squeaks;  somewhere 
upstairs  a  door  was  slammed;  outside  the  paper 
boy  proclaimed  a  doubtful  extra. 
.  "Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  spoke  the  young 
man,  rising,  as  he  appeared  to  remember  sud 
denly  that  an  explanation  on  his  part  might 
reasonably  be  expected,  "but — but — you  are  not 
Miss  Caroline  De  Wint?" 

"No,"  replied  Alida,  with  much  dignity,  "I 
am  not.  Do  you  want  to  see  Miss  De  Wint?" 

"I  am  not  quite  sure,"  he  answered,  and  the 
uncertainty  seemed  odd  in  one  who  must  have 
given  himself  some  trouble  to  come  at  all. 

"Does  Cousin  Caroline  know  you  are  here?" 
Alida  asked,  which  was,  of  course,  a  stupid  mis 
take,  and  one  she  was  glad  the  stranger  did  not 
notice. 

"I'm  not  sure,  but  I  scarcely  think  so,"  he 
replied.  "The  servant  ushered  me  in  here,  and 
then  I  am  afraid  she  fell  down  a  flight  of  stairs. " 


In  Borderland  23 

"How  long  ago  was  that?"  she  asked  him, 
coldly. 

"Oh,  just  a  minute,"  he  assured  her,  but  she 
knew  his  sense  of  time  must  be  inaccurate;  and 
it  was  a  relief  to  have  him  add  simply,  "You 
were  finishing  something  when  I  came  in,  and 
then  you  sang  that  song  by  Dunbar,  and  then 
another  I  have  never  heard  before." 

He  spoke  without  affectation,  as  one  conscious 
of  no  embarrassment  in  a  situation  for  which 
neither  could  be  held  responsible;  and  Alida, 
whose  good  opinion  of  her  own  judgment  was 
unfaltering,  decided  that  it  would  be  the  part  of 
dignity  not  to  leave  the  room  at  once.  Though 
the  stranger  apparently  stood  not  at  all  in  awe  of 
her,  there  had  been  nothing  so  far  in  his  manner 
to  justify  an  abrupt  withdrawal.  His  desire  to 
set  himself  right  before  going  further  was  imper 
sonal,  open,  and  undisguised,  and  his  unspoken 
appeal  to  her  generosity  might  have  been  directed 
to  Cousin  Caroline  herself,  though  possibly  with 
less  success. 

"The  last  was  not  by  any  one  in  particular," 
said  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  composedly,  and  rising 
without  undue  haste  she  took  a  step  toward  the 
door.  "I  will  tell  Miss  De  Wint  that  you  are 
here,"  she  added;  "she  is  dressing  for  dinner 
and  will  be  coming  down  directly." 

The  gentleman  inclined  his  head. 


24     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "I  had  forgotten  that 
it  might  be  dinner-time." 

"Yes,  we  dine  rather  early,"  said  Alida,  with 
the  fatal  fondness  of  the  young  for  imparting 
information,  "on  account  of  one  lady  who  is  very 
old." 

"In  that  case,  perhaps  I  had  better  call 
again." 

"Oh  no,  it  can't  be  later  now  than  six,  and 
Miss  De  Wint  would  be  so  sorry — " 

As  Alida  left  the  meaningless  formula  unfin 
ished  he  rejoined,  "I'm  not  so  sure  of  that;  in 
fact  I'm  not  sure  at  all  that  she  is  the  Miss  De 
Wint  I  am  looking  for.  You  see  I  only  happened 
to  find  her  name  on  a  pamphlet  as  the  secretary 
for  some  charity." 

"Yes,  she  is  secretary  for  ever  so  many  chari 
ties." 

"This  one  was,  I  think,  a  society  for  the  aid 
of  escaped  convicts." 

Alida  has  been  accused  of  receiving  this  intelli 
gence  with  a  cry  of  apprehension  and  alarm. 
What  she  said  in  truth  was  only,  "That  society 
is  for  the  aid  of  released  convicts";  making  the 
correction  with  too  slight  an  emphasis  to  excuse 
what  followed. 

"Oh,  really!"  he  protested,  in  accents  of  dis 
tress,  then  looking  straight  into  her  eyes  he 
laughed — laughed  openly  and  frankly,  laughed 


In  Borderland  25 

as  no  one  has  a  right  to  laugh  except  on  old 
acquaintance.  And  Alida — well,  she  was  twenty 
and  he  was  twenty-five.  And  there  are  moments 
when  the  innate  folly  of  the  race  forgets  its 
centuries  of  repression;  when  the  old,  mad,  irre 
sponsible  cave  man  breaks  out  to  caper  and  leap 
again. 

"But  it  was  funny,  wasn't  it?"  he  said,  becom 
ing  suddenly  grave. 

"I  do  not  think  so  in  the  least,"  she  answered, 
blushing  furiously,  and  contending  with  a  nerv 
ous  inclination  to  laugh  again.  But  the  other 
came  to  her  assistance. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  if  Miss  De  Wint 
is  what  one  might  call  fierce?"  he  asked,  with  a 
startling  irrelevance  worthy  of  Cousin  Caroline 
herself. 

"Fierce?" 

"Yes,  unapproachable  I  mean.  I  want  to  ask 
her  about  some  one  she  may  have  known  long 
ago.  Do  you  think  she  would  mind  telling  me?" 

"Not  in  the  least,  if  she  had  liked  the  person, 
and  very  much  if  she  had  not,"  replied  Alida, 
frankly. 

"This  person  may  have  been  a  near  relation," 
he  was  beginning  to  explain,  when  Alida  inter 
rupted. 

"I  should  not  advise  you  even  to  hint  at  that," 
she  said,  with  friendly  warning.  "Cousin  Caro- 


26     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

line  has  never  had  a  relative  except  my  mother 
and  myself. " 

"You  are  quite  sure  of  that,  of  course,"  he 
ventured,  doubtfully. 

"Oh  yes,  I  know  all  about  our  family." 

"Perhaps  she  may  have  been  only  a  school 
friend,"  he  speculated,  partly  to  himself. 

"At  Fulham  Priory?"  Alida  asked,  becoming 
interested. 

"Is  that  a  school?"  he  asked  in  turn. 

"It  used  to  be,"  she  answered,  "but  it  burned 
down  long  ago."  In  dismissing  Cousin  Caroline 
as  a  promising  source  of  information,  she  real 
ized  now  that  she  had  assumed  certain  responsi 
bilities,  and  accepted  them. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  she  said,  with  dignity; 
"and  please  don't  take  that  little  chair,  it's  not 
reliable." 

As  they  once  more  faced  each  other  from  piano 
stool  and  sofa  she  told  him  that  Fulham  Priory 
had  been  the  only  school  attended  by  Caroline 
De  Wint,  and  he  performed  some  feat  of  mental 
arithmetic  regarding  dates. 

"They  don't  come  out  at  all,"  he  said,  with 
disappointment.  "I  must  be  upon  the  wrong 
track  altogether.  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  tell 
me  this.  I  must  have  bored  you  frightfully." 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  not  helped  you  very 
much,"  she  said. 


In  Borderland  27 

"No,"  he  assented,  "everything  I  want  to 
know  about  happened  before  you  were  born. 
There  are  a  thousand  people  who  could  tell  me 
in  a  dozen  words,  but  the  trouble  is  I  don't  know 
where  to  find  them.  You  are  the  only  person  I 
have  spoken-  to  in  New  York,  except  the  clerk  at 
the  Holland  House,  and  he  was  most  official." 

The  pause  that  followed  might  have  been  em 
barrassing  had  not  his  eyes  continued  to  include 
her  in  the  puzzle,  and  when  he  spoke  again  it 
was  with  a  distinct  advance  toward  confidence. 

"You  remarked  just  now,"  he  said,  "that  you 
knew  all  about  your  family.  Now  I  know  noth 
ing  about  mine  except  that  I  had  a  grandfather, 
with  whom  I  quarreled  ten  years  ago  because  he 
would  not  tell  me  my  own  name." 

"Really!"  cried  Alida,  opening  wide  her  eyes 
at  this  unheard  of  state  of  things. 

The  visitor  nodded  an  affirmation.  "That's 
about  the  size  of  it,"  he  said. 

"And  you  thought  Cousin  Caroline  could  help 
you?" 

"Yes,  I  thought  there  was  a  chance.  I  used 
to  study  from  an  old  school  book  in  which  the 
name  of  Caroline  De  Wint  was  scribbled  on  a 
fly-leaf.  I  have  not  even  got  the  book  any 
longer,  but  there  may  have  been  some  connec 
tion.  I  thought  she  might  remember  losing  a 
geography." 


28     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"But  surely  you  could  ask  her  that!" 

"Yes,"  he  assented,  seriously,  "but  to  tell  the 
truth  you  have  made  me  a  little  afraid  of  Miss 
De  Wint.  Perhaps  she  valued  the  geography, 
you  know,  and  I  am  in  no  position  to  defend  our 
title  to  it." 

"I  am  sure  my  cousin  would  be  very  willing  to 
tell  you  everything  she  knows,"  returned  Alida, 
a  trifle  uneasily  it  must  be  admitted,  for  the 
problem  of  making  the  interview  convincing  to 
her  elders  was  beginning  to  obtrude  itself.  The 
visitor,  detecting  the  note,  rose  instantly  to  his 
feet. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  think  it  very  strange," 
he  said,  "if  I  defer  my  call  on  Miss  De  Wint. 
You  know  one  pictures  things  so  differently  from 
the  reality." 

Alida  did  not  answer,  but  her  face  looking  up 
to  him  expressed  a  faint  interrogation.  What 
ever  the  "everything"  he  had  pictured  might 
mean,  she  was  conscious  of  being  herself  the 
reality,  and  the  role  was  not  a  wholly  novel 
one. 

"I  have  no  right  to  impose  on  you  a  moment 
longer,"  he  went  on,  "but  I  should  hate  to  be 
considered  a  mysterious  idiot.  Please  ask  me 
anything  that  occurs  to  you — even  the  name  of 
my  asylum." 

"I  should  like  to  know  just  who  you  expected 


In  Borderland  29 

to  find  here,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  laugh, 
which  he  was  quick  to  answer  as  he  said: 

"Oh,  I  had  fancied  a  nice  little  old  lady  with  a 
cat  or  so,  and  I  planned  to  make  friends  with  the 
cats,  and  hoodwink  their  mistress  with  a  small  sub 
scription — for  the  convicts.  I  was  not  prepared 
to  bring  up  suddenly  against  a  social  system." 

"Indeed!"  returned  the  social  system,  non- 
committally. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  looking  at  her  steadily, 
"in  spite  of  undeserved  consideration,  I  find  I 
have  got  hold  of  the  wrong  end  of  the  string. 
One  can't  start  in  New  York  as  one  would  in  Oro 
City." 

"And  where  is  Oro  City?"  asked  Alida.  "I 
don't  know  much  about  geography." 

"Oro  is  somewhere  in  the  Rocky  Mountains," 
he  replied,  instructively.  "Its  leading  product 
is  gold-bearing  quartz — which  is  shipped  else 
where  to  be  refined." 

"How  very  interesting,"  said  Alida. 

"Very,"  he  assented,  "especially  for  the 
quartz.  It  needs  only  a  little  crushing  and  a 
little  beating  to  become  quite  presentable.  Per 
haps  you  will  kindly  say  to  Miss  De  Wint  that  I 
shall  do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  later." 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  her,"  said  Alida;  "and  shall 
I  say  when  she  may  expect  you?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  will  not  be  very  soon,"  he  an- 


jo     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

swered,  gravely;  "the  honor  of  my  family  is 
involved  in  that  geography,  but  I  have  first  to 
find  the  family.  You  will  agree  with  me,  I 
know,  that  family  is  the  one  element  most  essen 
tial. " 

"It  is  an  element  that  many  people  do  very 
well  without,"  she  returned,  with  spirit,  for  she 
suspected  him  of  making  fun  of  her. 

"Oh  yes,  in  Oro,"  he  rejoined;  "but  Oro  is 
two  thousand  miles  from  here." 

Before  Alida  could  reply,  almost  before  she 
was  aware  of  what  she  did,  he  had  held  out  his 
hand  and  she  had  given  him  hers. 

"Good  night,"  he  said,  retaining  it  an  imper 
ceptible  moment,  "good  night,  and  thank  you 
for  your  very  great  kindness — in  not  calling  the 
police." 

When  he  turned  at  the  threshold  she  was  sit 
ting  with  her  eyes  upon  the  yellow  keys,  and  she 
did  not  raise  them  till  the  red  mahogany  door 
had  closed  and  after  it  the  outer  door,  more 
heavily,  so  heavily  as  to  send  a  tinkling  tremor 
through  the  prismatic  chandelier. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  DISH  OF  OLIVES 

The  evening  meal  in  the  household  of  Ruggles 
was  piously  held  by  those  admitted  to  its  privi 
leges  to  differ  from  the  travesty  of  dinner  com 
monly  associated  with  weekly  payment,  and  to 
maintain,  in  point  of  company  at  least,  the  honor 
able  traditions  of  Chancellor  De  Vos's  mahogany. 

In  the  dining-room,  red  flock  paper,  paneled 
with  strips  of  gilded  moulding,  made  a  pleasant 
background ;  the  rigid  hangings  were  of  the  same 
cheerful  hue,  and  opposing  mirrors  multiplied  the 
candles  to  infinity.  The  frescoed  ceiling  symbol 
ized  the  seasons;  the  mantel,  night  and  morning 
in  Carrara.  A  lion  of  Lucerne  died  on  a  yellow 
marble  clock  between  two  men  at  arms  who  carried 
gas  jets,  and  above  the  Sheffield  domes  upon  the 
sideboard  hung  the  seductive  portrait  of  a  melon. 
But  for  a  stain  or  so  suggesting  water  pipes,  one 
might  have  fancied  one's  self  back  in  the  old,  for 
gotten  city  that  shouted  for  Kossuth  and  built  a 
monument  to  General  Worth. 

At  one  end  of  the  long  table  Bella  herself  pre 
sided;  her  white  hair  rolled  high  in  the  manner 
of  Mrs.  Judge  Van  Horn  of  blessed  memory; 
31 


32     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

her  dark,  bright  eyes  alert  with  hospitable  solici 
tude,  and  her  weak  lips  parted  for  whatever 
platitude  occasion  might  demand.  From  time  to 
time  she  raised  a  plump,  white  hand  in  signal  to 
Mary  in  violent  action  and  an  aged  colored  man 
cruising  upon  the  offing,  or  again  sent  wireless 
messages  to  Mr.  Bella  Ruggles,  who  facing  her 
peered  timidly  from  behind  a  soup  tureen  or 
roast  or  other  savory  barricade.  Between  the 
host  and  hostess  ranged  the  ten  of  fortune's 
favorites  who  shared  the  feast. 

It  was  the  moment  between  courses  when 
olives  assume  importance,  and  Mrs.  Ruggles, 
selecting  for  herself  the  least  attractive  fruit, 
dispatched  the  heavy  little  silver  dish  upon  its 
circuit. 

"Mr.  Volkert,  may  I  offer  you  an  olive?"  she 
inquired,  persuasively — and  Mr.  Volkert  helped 
himself  to  three. 

He  was  a  young  gentleman  whose  deep  set 
eyes,  high  forehead,  and  smoothly  shaven  face 
gave  promise  of  so  much  greater  interest  than  it 
was  in  their  owner's  power  to  fulfill  that  he  had 
wisely,  or  unwisely,  abandoned  the  attempt. 
Contenting  himself  wilh  externals  he  wore  broad 
collars  and  loose  cravats,  which  told  against  him 
in  the  offices  of  Barrows,  Clatworthy  &  Sill, 
wherein  he  was  believed  to  study  law;  and  he 
sometimes  practiced  on  the  flute,  in  privacy  if  not 


A  Dish  of  Olives  33 

in  secret.  Edward  Volkert  owed  his  present 
honorable  seat  to  conversational  tendencies  occa 
sionally  calling  for  repression,  and  at  twenty-one 
he  found  this  a  distinction. 

Beyond  him — "What!  olives?  Thank  you, 
no" — sat  his  grandmother — the  repression  was 
complete — a  lady  of  great  size  and  defective 
hearing,  who  was  also  "Grandma  Epps,"  by 
courtesy,  to  all  her  friends. 

Next  in  order  came  Alida,  to-night  a  candle- 
moth  among  worthy  beetles ;  and  then  her  mother, 
and  Miss  Caroline  De  Wint.  This  brought  the 
olive  dish  to  Mr.  Ruggles,  who  hastily  sent  it 
upon  its  homeward  way  by  grace  of  Bella  Junior 
at  his  right. 

Bella  Junior,  or  Bell,  sole  daughter  of  the 
house,  performed  the  service  grudgingly,  and  with 
an  expression  of  aggressive  discontent  which 
often  marred  her  really  pretty  face.  She  had 
refrained  from  olives,  though  regarding  them 
with  no  distaste,  and  added  thereby  another  to 
her  tale  of  wrongs. 

Bell's  leading  grievance  was  the  boarding- 
house,  to  which  her  calculations  gave  a  rental 
value  that  might  well  suffice  for  three  in  inde 
pendence  somewhere  out  of  town.  And  knowing 
nothing  of  mortgages  this  wrong  beset  her  night 
and  day,  making  her  almost  plain  and  spiteful 
before  her  time.  Though  she  and  Alida  Van 


34     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Wandeleer  had  been  classmates  at  Madame 
Brown's,  Bell  looked  already  several  years  the 
senior. 

"Miss  Deusenbury,  do  you  care  for  these 
things?"  she  asked,  disparagingly. 

"They  look  delightful,"  replied  her  neighbor, 
who  was  courtesy  itself. 

Everybody  knows  who  the  Deusenburys  are. 
Miss  Hannah  was  of  the  less  prominent  River 
branch,  but  she  had  been  a  beauty,  and  when  the 
Prince  danced  twice  with  her  at  that  wonderful 
old  Academy  ball,  people  said  all  sorts  of  amus 
ing  things.  But  beauty  and  princes  and  the 
things  they  bring  were  shadowy  now  to  the  mis 
tress  of  belles-lettres,  and  out  of  the  Ciass-room 
her  talk  was  of  Henry  Esmond,  though  her 
dreams  may  still  have  been  of  Vanity  Fair. 

Beside  the  teacher  was  her  friend  Miss  Toll, 
who  on  Sundays  wrought  mightily  at  Faith  Church 
mission,  and  occupied  the  secular  hours  in  filling 
out  little  cards  and  sorting  little  packages.  Her 
knowledge  of  the  clergy  list  was  truly  remark 
able,  and  she  rarely  went  abroad  without  coming 
back  in  some  one's  else  carriage. 

Two  guests  remain  and — the  olive  will  have 
served  its  peaceful  purpose — Mrs.  Bruyn  Van 
Gaasbeck  and  her  son,  the  doctor. 

To  know  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  was  to  be 
aware  that  she  had  tasted  sorrow,  though  to  look 


A  Dish  of  Olives  35 

upon  her  only,  the  thought  might  not  at  once 
occur.  But  one  could  not  be  long  in  her  com 
pany — the  doctor  being  absent — without  an  ink 
ling  of  her  story.  The  late  Bruyn,  who  had  been 
a  bear,  and  synonymously,  a  beast  and  brute, 
had  for  years  kept  the  eyes  of  society  upon  suc 
cessive  antics  until  his  final  exit  with  a  shameless 
leading  lady.  There  were  details  for  a  shelf  of 
novels  between  the  wedding  at  Old  St.  Thomas 
and  the  sailing  of  the  Bothnia,  but  the  tale,  grown 
hard  by  endless  repetitions,  evoked  tears  no 
longer,  and  the  woman  who  had  coined  her  heart 
in  phrases  no  longer  looked  for  them.  Tall, 
erect,  and  stately,  her  toilets  were  the  admira 
tion  of  the  table,  and  if  behind  her  back  unkind 
things  were  whispered,  there  was  always  some  one 
to  say,  "But  at  least  she  is  devoted  to  her  son." 
Providence  had  given  Doctor  Van  Gaasbeck, 
as  a  protection  doubtless  against  leading  ladies, 
an  abnormally  large  head,  thin  reddish  hair,  and 
a  white  skin  enlivened  by  many  freckles,  but  his 
smile  was  that  of  an  apostle,  and  those  who  took 
the  trouble  to  listen  to  his  infrequent  words 
found  them  direct  and  to  the  point.  Further  he 
had  two  distinguishing  characteristics — a  pair  of 
very  thick  eyeglasses  which  at  certain  angles  mag 
nified  his  eyes  to  a  startling  size,  and  secondly, 
the  faint  though  unmistakable  smell  of  iodoform, 
in  which  disinfectant  he  had  an  abiding  faith. 


36     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Unlike  the  other  guests  the  doctor  did  not 
sleep  in  the  house,  but  occupied  a  transmutable 
sofa  in  his  office,  the  reception-room  of  an  Eng 
lish  basement,  a  few  blocks  farther  north.  There 
Richard  Van  Gaasbeck  passed  all  of  his  days  and 
all  of  his  evenings,  and  there,  his  repute  for 
financial  leniency  being  even  greater  than  his 
renown  for  skill,  he  received  a  numerically  flat 
tering  stream  of  patients. 

This  arrangement  of  the  table,  though  it  might 
seem  to  give  the  hostess  an  undue  share  of  male 
society,  had  not  been  reached  without  much  care 
ful  thought  and  successive  changes,  all  tending 
to  remove  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  from  draughts,  to 
which  she  was  highly  sensitive,  and  her  son  from 
the  proximity  of  the  younger  women,  to  whom 
he  appeared  ungallantly  indifferent. 

It  was  early  in  the  repast,  and  conversation 
flitting  fitfully  from  theme  to  theme,  poised  for  a 
moment  doubtful  where  to  light.  The  pause  was 
any  one's  for  the  asking,  and  Mr.  Volkert  took 
it. 

"Hello  Central!"  he  remarked,  rather  louder 
than  was  necessary,  bending  forward  to  catch 
Alida's  eye  across  his  kinswoman's  ample  breast; 
"how  are  things  up  your  way?" 

She  had  known  Edward  Volkert  all  her  life, 
she  had  been  engaged  to  him  at  ten,  but  she  had 
outgrown  him  long  ago. 


A  Dish  of  Olives  37 

"I  am  very  well,  thank  you,"  replied  Central, 
nodding  tolerantly  back. 

"I've  got  a  conundrum  for  you,"  he  continued, 
if  anything  a  trifle  louder.  "Why  is  Hoboken 
like  Italy?" 

"Edward!"  said  Grandma  Epps,  severely,  "I 
must  insist  upon  your  keeping  your  head  out  of 
my  plate. " 

"Hoboken  like  Italy?  How  very  droll!"  mur 
mured  Miss  Toll,  whose  heart  was  ever  with  the 
snubbed. 

"Indeed  the  thought  has  often  occurred  to  me 
that  there  is  something  quite  Italian  in  the  Jer 
sey  shore,"  observed  Miss  Deusenbury,  in  her 
even,  class-room  voice.  "And  when  on  some 
misty  autumn  evening  the  sun  goes  down  behind 
the  dome  of  that  great  Passionist  church — " 

"That's  not  the  answer,"  chuckled  Mr.  Vol- 
kert,  gleefully. 

"Edward,  be  silent!"  commanded  Grandma 
Epps. 

"My  son  tells  me  that  the  Allan-Youngs'  new 
house  is  simply  gorgeous,"  announced  Mrs.  Van 
Gaasbeck,  in  a  tone  to  compel  attention.  "He 
was  there  this  afternoon,  professionally." 

"Indeed!"  remarked  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer, 
fixing  the  speaker  with  suspicious  eyes.  "I 
fancied  the  Allan-Youngs  were  still  abroad." 

"They  are,"  the  doctor  answered,  hurriedly. 


3  8     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"It  was  the  butler  I  was  called  to  see.  He  ran  a 
splinter  in  his  thumb." 

"Ah,  really!"  commented  Mrs.  Van  Wande- 
leer,  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction. 

"But  is  not  the  house  indeed  like  fairy-land?" 
exclaimed  Miss  Toll,  throwing  herself  with  tact 
into  the  breach. 

"I  said  like  Italy,"  corrected  young  Mr.  Vol- 
kert,  looking  up  hopefully  from  the  more  muscu 
lar  parts  of  the  turkey. 

"Be  silent!"  admonished  his  grandmother; 
"no  one  is  speaking  to  you." 

"Anybody  have  a  little  piece  more?  Lovely 
little  piece  here,  dainty  little  piece!"  piped  Mr. 
Ruggles,  in  seductive  treble,  his  white  shirt 
bosom  rising  moonlike  behind  the  ruins  of  the 
bird. 

"Do  sit  down,  father,"  whispered  Bell,  "they 
are  all  helped.  Eat  something  yourself,  please  do. ' ' 

Then  Miss  Toll,  remembering  that  Miss  Van 
Wandeleer  had  been  lunching  in  Park  Avenue, 
asked  of  her  some  tactful  question  concerning 
the  affair,  and  for  a  time  the  girl  became  the 
center  of  polite  attention.  She  said  the  party 
had  been  very  small,  just  a  dozen  girls,  and  a 
countess  from  Chicago.  She  thought  there  had 
been  music  in  the  hall,  but  did  not  quite  remem 
ber.  The  favors  were  rather  nice,  and  the  menu 
about  the  sort  of  thing  one  expects. 


A  Dish  of  Olives  39 

Alida  was  never  publicly  critical  of  the  rich, 
holding  honest  doubts  as  to  whether  "mere 
money"  was  such  a  bad  thing  after  all,  and  as 
she  finished  her  godmother  nodded  approbation. 

"Is  it  considered  the  thing  now-a-days  to  place 
champagne  before  young  girls?"  Mrs.  Van  Gaas- 
beck  inquired.  Like  Rosa  Dartle,  she  asked  for 
information. 

"Oh  yes,  I  think  so,"  answered  Alida,  sweetly, 
"but  of  course  it  would  be  horribly  bad  form  to 
drink  it." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  doctor,  breaking 
silence  for  the  first  time.  "May  I  repeat  that  at 
the  dispensary,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer?  The  fel 
lows  would  appreciate  it." 

"But  you  must  not  give  me  as  an  authority," 
continued  Alida,  smiling,  and  Bell  bent  forward 
to  hear  what  the  two  were  saying. 

"Wine,"  observed  Miss  Deusenbury,  "has 
always,  you  know,  been  regarded  as  a  symbol  of 
hospitality,  especially  among  the  Greeks,  and — 
ahem — the  Phoenicians,  and  to  me  the  idea  of  its 
purely  ceremonial  use  is  charming." 

"And  so  it  is  no  doubt  to  the  butler,"  observed 
Miss  De  Wint. 

"Speaking  of  wine,"  chirped  Mr.  Ruggles, 
from  behind  the  ham,  but  by  that  time  the  com 
pany  were  speaking  of  something  else. 

Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,  it  seemed,  had  been  near 


40     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

to  death  that  day  beneath  the  wheels  of  an  auto 
mobile,  and  although  the  narrative  of  her  escape 
was  pointedly  addressed  to  Grandma  Epps  alone, 
the  others  took  up  the  discussion  of  perilous 
crossings  with  interest. 

"I  can  remember  a  time  when  all  the  carriages 
belonged  to  one's  own  friends,"  sighed  Mrs.  Van 
Wandeleer.  "The  coachmen  used  to  touch  their 
hats  and  draw  up  to  let  one  by!" 

"Why,  even  the  stage  drivers  knew  us  in  old 
times!"  added  Miss  De  Wint.  "They  would 
stop  at  Bond  Street  without  waiting  for  me  to 
pull  the  strap." 

"They  were  not  always  so  considerate,"  ob 
served  Miss  Deusenbury,  her  pale  cheek  flushing 
slightly;  "I  was  myself  nearly  knocked  down 
once  by  a  stage  on  my  way  to  school." 

"Oh,  tell  us  about  it,  please!"  pleaded  Alida. 

"It  was  nothing,  really!"  protested  the  old 
teacher,  crumbling  a  bit  of  bread  with  her  long, 
thin  fingers;  "I  fainted,  I  believe — I  was  a  mere 
child — and  they  carried  me  into  Ball  &  Black's, 
but  it  was  really  ridiculous,  of  course — it  seems 
that  Dandy  Marken  saw  the  driver's  careless 
ness,  and  mounting  the  box,  threw  the  ruffian  to 
the  ground." 

"Oh,  how  delightful!"  exclaimed  Alida. 

"No,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Deusenbury,  remem 
bering,  with  a  far-off  smile,  the  frightened  school 


A  Dish  of  Olives  41 

girl  in  flight  through  Amity  Street  with  mud- 
splashed  pantalettes,  "it  was  rather  absurd  in 
the  end,  for  Captain  Marken  drove  the  stage  to 
the  Battery  himself  while  all  the  people  on  the 
sidewalk  cheered." 

"I  remember  that  story,"  announced  Miss  De 
Wint,  with  reminiscent  fervor.  "Dandy  held  up 
his  arm  and  shouted  for  passengers  at  every 
corner,  and  when  his  friends  climbed  on  until  the 
roof  was  crowded  he  refused  to  give  change,  and 
at  Chambers  Street  threw  the  money  to  the  apple- 
woman  who  always  sat  in  front  of  Stewart's." 

"He  was  a  noble  fellow,"  sighed  Miss  Toll. 
"I  used  to  know  his  sisters." 

"I  was  in  his  Company,"  proclaimed  little  Mr. 
Ruggles,  for  once  making  himself  heard.  "We 
wore  the  Austrian  uniform  and  our  horses  were 
all  coal  black." 

"Were  the  Markens  ever  really  in  society?" 
asked  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,  whose  memory  refused 
to  leap  the  Sanitary  Fair. 

"Perhaps  not  exactly  in  the  Bond  Street  set," 
admitted  Miss  De  Wint,  "but  I  am  afraid  we 
were  a  little  too  strict  at  times." 

"My  father  used  to  say  that  Mrs.  Slingerland, 
the  leader  of  that  lot,  was  the  vulgarest  old 
woman  he  ever  knew." 

"Mrs.  Slingerland  was  my  aunt." 

"Oh,  was  she,  really?     I  am  so  sorry." 


42     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Well,  you  needn't  be,"  interrupted  Miss  De 
Wint;  "Aunt  Rachel  was  one  of  the  few  people 
who  could  afford  to  say  exactly  what  she  pleased. " 

"I'm  sure  that  we  should  all  like  to  do  that  at 
times,"  murmured  Miss  Toll. 

Coffee  now  appearing,  a  diversion  was  made 
by  the  departure  of  Grandma  Epps,  who  eschewed 
stimulant,  and  being  slow  of  foot  rose  laboriously 
and  started  for  the  parlor,  led  rather  than  sup 
ported  by  Mary. 

"Can't  I  help?"  asked  Edward,  without 
warmth. 

"Not  till  you  learn  the  difference  between  a 
person's  arm  and  a  pump  handle,"  said  Grandma 
Epps. 

"I  think,"  observed  Mr.  Bella,  pushing  back 
his  chair  and  looking  about  him  with  the  air  of  one 
who  scents  Madeira,  "I  am  convinced  that  Mr. 
Chamberlain  is  making  a  great  mistake.  What 
England  needs  to-day  is  a  Palmerston." 

"Indeed,  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  assented 
Miss  Deusenbury,  folding  her  hands. 

"Or  even  a  Gladstone,"  added  Miss  Toll,  who 
also  relished  a  dash  of  British  politics  after  din 
ner.  Like  the  others  it  was  the  flavor  she  valued, 
not  the  brand,  and  she  was  never  quite  secure  as 
to  whether  the  Budget  was  an  official  or  a  thing. 

As  the  company  separated  into  gradually  dis 
solving  groups,  Alida  asked:  "Cousin  Caroline, 


A  Dish  of  Olives  43 

did  you  ever  really  have  an  aunt  named  Slinger- 
land?" 

"Certainly  not,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  De  Wint. 
"She  was  a  horrid  old  woman  we  did  not  even 
know.  It's  broiling' hot  in  here;  come  into  the 
parlor  unless  you  mean  to  smoke." 

"Caroline,  how  can  you  say  such  things  to 
Alida,  even  in  jest?" 

"Josephine,  how  do  I  know  what  tricks  the 
girl  has  not  picked  up  in  the  places  you  let  her 
go  to?" 

As  they  moved  toward  the  door,  Alida,  per 
ceiving  the  battle  to  be  on  again,  slipped  away 
with  a  pretext  of  interest  in  Mr.  Volkert's  riddle, 
and  it  was  while  listening  to  its  stupid  answer 
that  she  stumbled  upon  a  discovery.  It  hap 
pened  that  the  Van  Gaasbecks,  mother  and  son, 
were  leaving  the  room  together  when  the  doctor 
apparently  held  back  to  give  his  parent  prece 
dence.  Then  Bell,  who  was  near,  drew  nearer, 
and  the  two  exchanged  some  whispered  words. 
The  colloquy  was  brief,  and  in  a  moment  they 
were  far  apart,  Bell  looking  for  something  behind 
the  clock  and  Van  Gaasbeck  in  the  hall  debating 
a  question  of  rubbers  with  his  mother.  But 
Alida  had  divined  a  secret.  She  would  have 
been  glad  to  embrace  Bell — they  had  been  good 
friends  at  school — and  the  doctor  could  have  had 
her  blessing  for  the  asking,  but  the  one  thought 


44     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

uppermost  was  an  unbecoming  joy  at  the  surprise 
in  store  for  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck. 

"Bluebell,"  she  said,  recalling  their  schoolroom 
good-fellowship  with  the  old  school  nickname, 
"come  into  my  room;  I've  got  a  box  of  Huyler's, 
fresh  to-day." 

"Thank  you,  Alida,  but  I  have  a  headache 
now,  and  I'm  going  to  bed  early,"  Bell  answered, 
irresponsively,  though  her  snapping  eyes  and 
heightened  color  suggested  that  it  must  be 
pleasant  to  have  something  on  one's  mind  worth 
telling  a  story  about. 

In  the  face  of  Bell's  large  secret  Alida's  own 
seemed  small,  but  still  for  purposes  of  exchange 
retained  a  certain  market  value.  It  was  like 
recess  again  at  Madame  Brown's. 

"Do  come,"  she  urged,  persuasively;  but  Bell 
was  not  to  be  persuaded. 

"I  really  have  a  letter  to  write,"  she  said,  for 
getting  her  former  reason,  and  presently  Alida 
heard  her  go  down  to  the  family  sitting-room  in 
the  front  basement. 

Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  believing  herself  alone, 
remembered  Mrs.  Norris's  box,  regretfully.  She 
had  planned  a  restful  evening  for  herself  in 
preparation  for  a  dance  the  following  night,  a 
healthful  season  of  repose  with  Huyler's  and  a 
book,  but  now  with  both  awaiting  her  in  her 
mother's  upstairs  parlor  neither  appeared  at  all 


A  Dish  of  Olives  45 

desirable,  and  it  was  with  unwonted  satisfaction 
that  she  again  became  aware  of  Edward  Volkert. 

"I've  got  another  good  one  for  you,"  an 
nounced  the  student  of  law.  Behind  her  back 
he  had  been  engaged  in  fussily  meddling  with 
the  clock,  but  this  was  not  the  interest  that 
detained  him. 

"Oh,  are  you  still  there,"  she  answered,  turn 
ing;  "I  thought  you  were  studying  for  some 
examination  or  something." 

Alida's  tone  was  not  one  to  encourage  riddles, 
and  neither  did  the  now  darkened  room  seem 
suited  for  frivolity. 

The  servants  had  lost  no  time  in  replacing  the 
white  cloth  with  drapery  of  dingy  red,  and  the 
chairs  were  all  drawn  back  against  the  wall. 
The  candles  had  given  place  to  gas  jets,  and  the 
atmosphere  would  have  been  the  better  for  an 
open  window. 

"I  guess  my  studies  will  keep,"  retorted  Vol 
kert,  grinning,  "until  I  have  been  out  to  get  a 
little  air." 

It  was  a  convenient  belief  of  Grandma  Epps, 
a  sort  of  legal  fiction,  that  Edward  when  not  eat 
ing  communed  with  Coke,  while  in  point  of  fact, 
his  presence  after  dinner  in  the  house  commonly 
endured  but  for  the  time  required  for  her  portly 
back  to  disappear  behind  the  parlor  door. 
Where  he  went,  what  voices  called  to  him  out  of 


46     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

the  great,  dark  city,  heaven  only  knew,  and  of 
the  hour  of  his  return  only  the  most  wakeful  had 
an  inkling. 

"I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  to  be 
so  deceitful,"  Alida  said,  reprovingly,  interpret 
ing  the  grin,  and  Volkert  with  both  hands  made 
a  gesture  of  impatience.  Jerking  a  chair  from 
its  place  he  rested  one  knee  on  the  seat  and 
leaned  toward  her,  his  elbows  on  the  back. 

"For  goodness  sake  let  up  on  that,"  he  said, 
with  the  odd  smile  which  often  placated  those 
who  found  his  eccentricities  most  annoying. 
"How  would  you  like  never  to  have  a  person 
speak  to  you  without  beginning,  'You  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  yourself?  Wouldn't  it  jar  you? 
Wouldn't  it  ruffle  your  fur?" 

"You  cannot  expect  any  one  to  approve  of 
your  behavior,"  she  returned,  with  lessened 
severity.  Slight  as  her  interest  was  in  Edward 
Volkert,  he  at  least  was  neither  middle-aged  nor 
disappointed,  which  merits  were,  though  nega 
tive,  to  be  counted  in  his  favor. 

"I  can't  expect  much,  for  a  fact,"  he  readily 
admitted,  "but  it's  bad  enough  to  live  in  a  merry 
morgue  without  having  every  one  down  on  me — 
you  especially. " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  down  on  you,"  she  answered, 
laughing.  Even  a  tithe  from  Edward  Volkert 
was  welcome  on  a  rainy  night. 


A  Dish  of  Olives  47 

"I'm  not  worth  that  much  trouble,"  he  re 
joined,  with  artful  pathos,  following  up  the  slight 
advantage. 

"I  never  supposed  you  cared  much  what  people 
thought  of  you,"  she  said,  continuing,  indulg 
ently,  "and  really  I  don't  blame  you  very  much. 
Every  boy  should  have  some  one  to  take  an  inter 
est  in  him.  You  should  have  had  a  sister." 

"It's  a  mighty  good  thing  for  her  she  never 
happened,"  he  retorted,  laughing;  "she  would 
not  have  been  able  to  study  law.  She  would 
have  had  to  be  respectable,  and  mend  things,  and 
remember  the  claims  of  a  distinguished  family — 
mostly  under  ground." 

Alida  took  another  chair  and  knelt  upon  it 
facing  him.  The  attitude  was  not  a  serious  one, 
but  neither  was  the  argument. 

"And  don't  you  ever  think  of  that  yourself?" 
she  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can't  forget  it.  I'm  to  have 
twelve  hundred  a  year  if  the  Guardian  and  Trustee 
don't  want  it  when  Grandma  folds  her  napkin, 
and  a  cornelian  watch  fob,  slightly  cracked.  It 
is  a  great  thing  to  be  a  Knickerbocker! — 

"Oh  I'm  Mr.  Knickerbocker, 
And  my  name  is  on  the  knocker, 
If  you  want  a  real  old-stocker 
Call  on  Gerritt  Knickerbocker! " 

Volkert  sang  the    comic  opera  patter  to  the 


48     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

accompaniment  of  a  dance  executed  as  by  one 
having  gouty  feet,  and  his  wince  of  anguish  at 
the  end  was  most  expressive. 

"I  should  think,"  commented  Alida,  gravely, 
"that  even  that  would  teach  you  to  have  some 
thing  to  be  proud  of.  If  I  were  a  man  I  should 
show  people  that  the  old  stock  was  more  than  a 
thing  to  joke  about.  I  should  not  allow  myself 
to  be  pushed  down  and  kept  under.  I  should 
make  myself  and  my  name  respected,  if  it  were 
only  on  a  knocker."  She  had  regained  her  feet 
and  stood  with  one  hand  on  the  chair  back  im 
pressively,  her  eyes  bright,  her  color  heightened 
prettily.  "Edward,  your  grandfather  was  presi 
dent  of  Princess  College,"  she  went  on,  "and 
you — you — have  you  no  ambition?" 

"Not  much,  I  am  afraid,"  he  answered,  lightly. 
"I  guess  the  breed's  run  down,  or  else  the  com 
mon  people  have  grown  smarter.  Old  Clatworthy 
used  to  be  my  uncle's  office  boy,  and  Barrow's 
father  drove  a  hack.  Ask  the  old  lady,  she  has 
got  them  all  down  fine." 

Alida  tossed  her  head  impatiently. 

"What  sense  is  there  in  depreciating  other 
people?"  she  demanded. 

"I  don't,"  he  answered,  stoutly.  "It's  the 
others  who  depreciate  me.  I'm  everybody's 
blackboy  at  the  office,  and  everybody's  tomfool 
here.  My  little  body  is  a-weary  of  the  whole 


A  Dish  of  Olives  49 

push,  and  I'd  fly  the  coop  to-morrow  if  it  were, 
not  for  one — one  thing." 

As  he  spoke  his  wandering,  irresponsible  eyes 
grew  for  a  moment  fixed  and  purposeful,  and  his 
voice  softened. 

"Alida,  have  you  ever  spoken  to  an  actor?"  he 
asked,  and  Alida,  puzzled  by  the  change  of  topic, 
answered  upon  reflection  that  she  had  once  met 
Graham  Foster  at  a  tea;  his  wife  was  a  De 
Moulde,  she  added. 

"Which  explains  his  being  there,"  Volkert  re 
marked,  with  irony.  "Would  you  marry  an 
actor?" 

"It  is  not  at  all  likely  I  shall  ever  have  to 
decide  about  that,"  she  answered,  eying  him 
curiously,  for  even  silly  questions  often  lead  to 
something.  "Now,  if  he  were  a  good,  kind 
actor,  thoroughly  high  principled,  and  really 
great — "  she  debated,  flippantly. 

"Do  you  think  a  comic  actor  could  ever  be 
really  great?" 

"Oh,  but  I  said  high  principled  as  well!"  she 
reminded  him,  laughing,  and  Volkert,  laughing 
with  her,  announced  that  he  must  go. 

"The  Body  Guard  comes  on  at  nine,"  he  said, 
in  explanation. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  Body  Guard?" 

"King  Solomon's  body  guard  in  the  'Queen 
of  Sheba, '  of  course.  Know,  madam,  that  you 


5©     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

have  the  honor  of  beholding  a  chorus  gent  from 
the  Alhambra!" 

"The  Alhambra?  You!"  exclaimed  Alida,  with 
surprise,  but  with  much  less  consternation  than 
he  would  have  liked. 

"The  same,"  said  Volkert,  making  an  Oriental 
salaam.  "My  post  is  on  the  minaret  to-night, 
that  I  may  warn  the  ladies  of  the  household  when 
the  king  draws  near.  There  would  be  a  lot  of 
trouble  if  I  should  fail  them,  and — speaking  of 
trouble — perhaps  you  won't  mind  waiting  till  yon 
aged  dame  mentions  the  matter  before  springing 
it  on  her." 

"If  you  mean  to  ask  me  not  to  tell  tales,  that 
is  hardly  necessary,"  answered  Alida,  stiffly. 
"I  have  no  wish  to  interfere  with  the  chosen 
career  for  which  you  are  so  admirably  adapted." 

"You  don't  mean  that  exactly  as  a  compli 
ment,"  he  rejoined,  "but  anything  is  better  than 
'You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.'  ' 

"Oh,  why  do  you  do  it?"  she  protested,  actu 
ated  by  a  generous  impulse.  "If  you  must  go 
on  the  stage,  why  not  try  to  be  another  sort  of 
actor?" 

"Would  it  make  any  difference  to  you?"  he 
asked,  with  sudden  seriousness.  "Would  it  make 
one  particle  of  difference,  now  or  ever?" 

"Of  course,  as  an  old  friend — "  began  Alida, 
feebly,  but  he  interrupted  her. 


A  Dish  of  Olives  51 

"Let  us  omit  the  doxology,"  he  said.  "Good 
night." 

"You  cannot  say  good  night  until  I  am  ready," 
said  Alida,  "and  I  am  not  ready  yet." 

"I'll  stay  here  all  the  evening,  if  you'll  let 
me." 

"No,  you  are  better  off  on  your  minaret.  I 
only  want  you  to  understand  that  I  am  not 
shocked,  and  that  I  don't  consider  you  a  desper 
ate  character.  You  will  probably  get  very  tired 
of  all  this  before  long,  but  meanwhile  you  must 
make  me  a  promise." 

"That's  dead  easy!     Anything  you  like." 

"Then  promise,"  she  commanded,  solemnly, 
"that  you  won't  drink  cocktails  with  those  horrid 
people  behind  the  scenes." 

"Cocktails!"  he  exclaimed,  derisively,  "never 
fear,  I  haven't  got  a  nickel  for  the  growler." 

"So  much  the  better,"  she  retorted,  holding 
out  her  hand,  which  he  took  in  both  of  his. 

"Whatever  you  may  think  of  me,"  he  said, 
"I'll  back  you  for  a  thoroughbred." 


CHAPTER  IV 
AT  THE  TOP  OF  THE  STAIRS 

If  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  did  not  at  once  deliver 
the  message  left  by  the  unnamed  stranger  from 
Oro  City  to  her  godmother,  she  should  not  be 
too  severely  criticised.  No  fitting  opportunity 
occurred  in  which  to  present  the  entire  incident 
of  the  visit  in  its  true  proportions.  And  this  was, 
in  a  way,  unfortunate,  as  in  the  interval  of  wait 
ing  the  days  of  grace  allowed  to  minor  incidents 
expired.  She  could  readily  explain  the  circum 
stances,  she  reflected,  were  she  ever  to  meet  the 
visitor  again.  And  of  this  there  seemed  a  reason 
able  probability.  One  generally  meets  people 
again. 

"Alida,  if  you  are  not  going  to  a  chicken-show 
or  to  play  parlor  foot-ball,  or  to  church,"  re 
marked  Miss  De  Wint,  one  afternoon  within  the 
octave  of  the  sleet  storm,  "I  should  like  to  have 
you  come  with  me." 

"Have  you  anything  to  carry,  Cousin  Caro 
line?"  inquired  Alida  with  caution,  but  at  the 
same  time  she  laid  her  book  aside. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  replied  her  godmother,  reas 
suringly;  "I  am  only  going  out  to  make  a  call." 
52 


At  the  Top  of  the  Stairs  53 

"What  shall  I  wear?" 

"Oh,  anything  that  is  not  too  good.  I  want 
to  see  if  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff  is  still  alive.  I 
haven't  been  there  for  a  year." 

They  were  in  the  upstairs  sitting-room,  and 
Alida's  hat,  conveniently  pinned  to  the  back  of 
a  sofa,  was  not  far  to  seek. 

"She  is  the  old  lady  who  lives  so  excessively 
upstairs,  and  opens  the  front  door  by  machinery, ' ' 
remarked  Alida,  as  standing  before  the  glass 
she  recalled  a  former  visit  to  Mrs.  Van  der 
Werff. 

"She  don't  go  flying  up  and  down  in  elevators, 
and  she  don't  employ  an  inhibited  curate  to  stare 
you  out  of  countenance,  but  she  is  a  lady  for  all 
that,-"  her  sponsor  said,  reprovingly. 

"Indeed  she  is,"  rejoined  Alida,  warmly,  push 
ing  in  the  final  pin.  "I  would  give  anything  to 
say  'devil'  with  such  real  refinement." 

"Mrs.  Van  der  Werff  has  had  more  than  her 
share  of  trouble." 

"Oh,  yes;  I  know  it  takes  a  lot  of  practice." 

In  the  street  they  turned  eastward  as  far  as 
University  Place;  then  north  past  the  French 
hotel,  the  old  furniture  shop  that  has  seen  so 
much  better  days,  and  the  library  whose  subscrip 
tion  list  is  history  itself.  At  Fourteenth  Street 
they  avoided  Dead  Man's  Curve  by  a  diagonal 
course  across  Union  Square. 


54     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  remember  being  at  a  party  once  in  that 
third  house  from  the  corner,"  began  Miss  De 
Wtnt.  But  the  fascinating  memories  of  Miss  De 
Wint  were  legion.  At  Irving  Place  she  had  an 
anecdote  for  every  corner;  at  St.  George's  a 
romance  for  every  house.  Ah,  the  good  old 
people  and  the  good  old  days,  when  the  Eden 
gates  stood  wide  open  as  those  of  Stuyvesant 
Park!  Just  before  you  were  born,  my  dear. 
And  once  upon  a  time  the  pigs  drank  wine — just 
before  you  were  born. 

"Cassidy.  Bodkin.  Assenheimer.  Strapp. " 
Alida  read  aloud  from  the  row  of  bells  as  she  and 
Miss  De  Wint  stood  waiting  in  a  neat  but  narrow 
vestibule.  "I  wonder  if  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff 
knows  the  Strapps,  or  if  the  Assenheimers  will 
drop  in  to  tea?" 

"Alida,"  returned  Miss  De  Wint,  severely, 
"how  can  you  be  so  heartless!" 

"I'm  not,"  protested  Alida,  stoutly;  "if  I 
lived  here  I'd  know  them  all.  There  is  no  ad 
vantage  in  being  poor  if  you  can't  be  common. 
It  would  be  like  being  well  off  without  a  taste 
for  music  or  artichokes." 

When  presently  the  door,  with  a  mechanical 
click  of  welcome,  swung  open  on  a  cautious 
crack,  the  visitors  found  themselves  in  a  tiled 
hallway,  scrupulously  clean,  and  smelling  of  var 
nish.  Somewhere  in  the  center  of  the  building 


At  the  Top  of  the  Stairs  $$ 

arose  the  means  of  access  to  the  heights  above. 
This  stairway,  being  rectangular,  was  broken 
into  innumerable  short  flights,  with  intermediate 
platforms  and  landings  which  greatly  magnified 
the  vertical  perspective.  After  a  turn  or  so  one 
ceased  to  count,  and  experienced  the  elation  of 
doing  something  worthy.  Then  unexpected 
doors  bearing  inscriptions — Cassidy — Bodkin — 
contributed  the  sustenance  of  human  presence  as 
might  the  sight  of  casual  Alpine  farms.  Upon 
the  more  important  stations — every  hundred 
metres  in  altitude  perhaps — there  were  chairs; 
that  is,  one  chair  to  every  station.  Cousin  Caro 
line  walked  past  the  first  of  these  disdainfully; 
at  the  second  she  stood  still  to  look  down  and 
up — which  is  always  a  mistake — and  at  the  third 
she  seated  herself,  frankly. 

"Alida,"  she  began,  "if  ever  you  should 
marry — "  and  here  Miss  Caroline  paused  for 
breath. 

"If  ever  I  do  marry,"  returned  Alida,  sitting 
down,  regardless  of  her  skirt,  upon  the  lower  step 
of  the  next  ascent,  "I  shall  marry  a  Cassidy  and 
live  on  the  first  flight  up." 

"I  was  about  to  say,"  went  on  Miss  De  Wint — 
and  her  words  were  still  a  trifle  over-punctuated — 
"that  the  country  has  a  great  many  advantages 
after  all.  But  then,  when  one  has  to  choose 
between  vulgarity  and  malaria,  and  there  don't 


^6     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

seem  to  be  any  one  left  to  marry,  one  does  not 
know  exactly  how  to  advise." 

"And  if  there  should  happen  to  be  any  one  left 
I  might  not  like  him  or  he  might  not  like  me," 
Alida  added,  making  the  case  more  hopeless  than 
before. 

"I  trust  you  will  never  throw  yourself  away," 
continued  Miss  De  Wint,  reflectively.  "Young 
girls  in  our  day  have  so  little  sense;  they  think 
when  a  man  has  fallen  desperately  in  love  with 
them  there  is  nothing  more  to  ask." 

"Oh,  I  should  require  lots  of  things,"  pro 
tested  the  neophyte,  in  her  own  defense.  "Fam 
ily,  for  one  thing;  that  is  the  first  essential." 

As  she  did  not  know  why  she  laughed  her  god 
mother  could  scarcely  be  expected  to. 

"It  is  a  serious  matter,"  rejoined  the  elder 
lady,  seriously.  "One  cannot  even  trust  good 
names  any  longer,  there  has  been  such  a  lot  of 
indiscriminate  marrying.  Just  as  you,  my  dear, 
are  only  half  De  Wint,  though  thank  goodness 
the  other  half's  Van  Wandeleer.  No,  names 
don't  count  for  anything." 

"No,"  assented  Alida,  with  a  little  sigh; 
"think  how  the  Adamses  must  have  got  diluted." 

"Now  there  is  that  young  Osterhout  who  sends 
you  orchids,"  persisted  Miss  De  Wint — she  rarely 
had  her  godchild  in  so  close  a  corner — "there  is 
not  a  better  name  to  be  found,  outside  of  a  very 


At  the  Top  of  the  Stairs  57 

few,  but  his  mother's  father  was  a  frightful  per 
son  who  manufactured  stockings." 

"No,  Cousin  Caroline,  seamless  underwear," 
corrected  Alida.  "  'See  that  K.  O.  K.  is  woven 
on  every  piece!'  ' 

"You  must  be  careful  not  to  let  that  young 
man  become  too  attentive." 

"I  shall  try,"  replied  Alida,  dutifully.  "When 
he  confided  to  me  that  K.  O.  K.  meant  Keep  Out 
Kold,  I  only  said  I  would  ask  my  dealer  for  them. 
Was  not  that  reserved  and  ladylike?" 

They  did  not  stop  again  till  Strapp,  and  then 
but  for  a  brief  recuperation  for  the  final  effort. 

"What  sort  of  people  do  those  Brisbanes 
know?"  demanded  Miss  De  Wint,  tenacious  of  a 
train  of  thought  of  which  the  burden  might  be 
guessed. 

"Oh,  nobody  very  much  as  yet.  Just  million 
aires  and  wandering  dukes,  and  people  they  cross 
the  ocean  with.  I  don't  believe  they  could  give 
anything  very  big  without  the  Waldorf  register. 
Mrs.  Brisbane  is  not  ambitious,  and  Mr.  Bris 
bane  only  likes  the  fun  of  making  money;  but 
Bessie,  I  am  sure,  will  get  there  with  both 
feet." 

"Alida,"  cried  Miss  De  Wint,  stopping  short, 
one  foot  upon  the  penultimate  flight,  "where 
under  heaven  did  you  learn  such  an  expression?" 

"Why,  Cousin  Caroline,  that  is  a  classic  in  the 


58     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

language.     It  means  that  she  will  win  unqualified 
success." 

"Then  you  had  much  better  say  so." 
Discussion  was  here  interrupted  by  the  appear 
ance  of  a  head  outlined  against  the  skylight  just 
above,  which  head,  being  that  of  Mrs.  Van  der 
Werff's  general  utility,  signified  both  that  the 
bell  was  broken  and  a  disposition  on  the  part  of 
the  utility  to  anticipate  events. 

"Is  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff  at  home?" 
"In  there,"  replied  the  servant,  tersely,  with 
a  movement  of  the  thumb  toward  the  open  door; 
and  by  way  of  apology  she  added,  "There's  some 
body  else  a'comin'  up,  I  guess." 

"Good  gracious,  if  that  isn't  Caroline  De  Wint! 
Well,  Caroline,  how  are  you?  Time  does  not 
stand  still  for  either  of  us." 

The  speaker  was  seated  in  a  rocking-chair 
beside  a  window  overlooking  miles  of  brown  tin 
roofs  from  which  near  at  hand  rose  many  chim 
neys,  and  further  off  steeples  and  towers  and 
stacks  and  sky-scrapers  under  white  columns  of 
flying  steam.  She  was  a  stout  old  lady  who 
either  parted  her  hair  on  one  side  or  had  been 
careless  in  adjusting  its  convenient  counterfeit, 
and  her  dress,  though  otherwise  unexceptionable, 
gave  the  impression  of  being  so  loosely  held 
together  that  it  was  just  as  well  she  did  not 
attempt  to  rise. 


At  the  Top  of  the  Stairs  59 

"Excuse  my  not  getting  up,"  she  said;  "I 
never  get  up  for  any  one.  Who's  that?" 

By  "that"  she  clearly  meant  Alida. 

"This,"  said  Miss  De  Wint,  sinking  into  a 
chair  unasked,  "is  Miss  Van  Wandeleer. " 

"Miss  Fiddle!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff, 
derisively.  "Who  was  her  father?" 

"Why,  Valentine  Van  Wandeleer,  of  course." 

"What,  Josephine's  child?  My  goodness!  how 
the  devil  came  Josephine  De  Wint  to  have  a 
pretty  daughter?  Stand  out,  my  dear,  and  show 
yourself. " 

Whereupon  Alida  reluctantly  stood  out. 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Twenty,"  still  more  reluctantly. 

"Engaged  to  be  married?" 

"No,"  almost  defiantly. 

"Why  not?" 

Alida  did  not  answer. 

"Fiddle!"  remarked  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff. 

"Sit  down,  Alida,"  put  in  Cousin  Caroline; 
"you  must  be  tired." 

"Why  should  she  be?"  demanded  Mrs.  Van 
der  Werff,  suspecting  a  reference  to  the  stairs; 
and  in  a  more  genial  tone  she  said,  "I'm  glad  to 
see  you  both." 

The  room,  which  was  small,  was  papered  in 
stripes  so  positive  as  to  give  one  the  sensation 
of  being  hung  up  in  a  bird  cage.  The  furniture, 


60     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

for  the  most  part  unsubstantial,  modern,  and  inex 
pensive,  lost  nothing  of  those  qualities  by  con 
trast  with  a  cumberous  carved  oak  cabinet  and  a 
standing  clock — the  Van  der  Werff  equivalents 
for  The  Tankard  and  The  Spoon.  By  way  of 
decoration  there  were  several  bits  of  Eastern 
•  printed  cotton  draped  meaninglessly  here  and 
there,  and  on  a  very  small  piano  stood  a  spiky 
growing  plant.  Apart  from  a  gray  goat-skin  rug 
which  became  at  times  aggressive,  Mrs.  Van  der 
Werff's  apartment  was  as  cheerful  as  that  lady 
herself. 

"I'll  give  you  some  tea  in  a  minute  when  that 
devilish  girl  gets  through  hanging  over  the  banis 
ters,"  she  said,  hospitably.  "Do  you  like  tea, 
my  dear?" 

Alida  answered  with  slight  regard  to  truth  that 
she  liked  tea  very  much. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  her  hostess;  "it's 
very  bad  for  you.  Caroline  De  Wint,  tell  me 
who  is  dead." 

"Oh,  I  have  not  heard  of  any  one  lately.  Of 
course  you  heard  about — "  and  Cousin  Caroline 
enumerated  several  recent  takings  off. 

"Fiddle!"  remarked  the  other  most  ungrate 
fully.  'Then  prompted  by  a  shuffle  in  the  ante 
room,  she  raised  her  voice  and  cried,  "Why  the 
devil  don't  you  come  in,  you  blundering  young 
giraffe?  Don't  stand  there  scratching  like  a  cat. " 


At  the  Top  of  the  Stairs  61 

"I'm  taking  off  my  overshoes,"  replied  a  mild 
and  masculine  voice,  and  the  visitors,  turning 
toward  the  door,  saw  enter  a  gray-haired  gentle 
man,  tall,  but  slightly  stooping,  eminently  sedate, 
and  wearing  the  high  cut  waistcoat  of  divinity. 

"Oh,  Doctor  Groesbeck,"  said  Mrs.  Van  der 
Werff,  unabashed,  "I  thought  you  were  the 
orphan." 

"I  am  an  orphan,"  replied  the  doctor,  smiling 
quietly,  "and  also  I  fear  at  times  a  blundering 
giraffe.  Why,  Miss  Caroline,  this  is  indeed  a 
pleasure." 

"Here  is  my  godchild,"  said  Cousin  Caroline, 
when  she  and  the  newcomer  had  shaken  hands 
most  cordially.  "Alida,  Doctor  Groesbeck  was 
an  old  friend  of  your  father's." 

Alida,  becoming  properly  ancillary,  allowed 
her  hand  to  remain  in  the  custody  of  the  clergy 
man  as  he  said,  "An  old  friend,  very  truly.  I 
was  no  longer  a  young  man  when  your  father 
went  to  Harvard.  I  used  to  say  his  course  there 
was  my  own,  and  I  was  proud  to  graduate  so  well. 
I  never  went  to  college." 

There  was  a  gentle,  old-time  graciousness  about 
this  clergyman  of  whom  she  had  never  heard 
before,  but  who  had  known  her  father,  and  Alida 
listened  gladly  as  he  talked,  recalling  musty,  com 
monplace  memories  with  the  elder  women.  Some 
times  they  differed  concerning  unimportant  dates, 


62     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

or  the  trivial  deeds  of  long  dead  people;  but  at 
such  times,  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff's  ever-ready 
"devil"  appeared  to  restore  harmony. 

Once,  when  the  conversation  touched  upon  the 
ology,  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff  exclaimed,  "Fiddle! 
the  churches  fight  like  cats  and  dogs,  and  how 
are  you  going  to  stop  it?" 

"I  should  say,  take  care  of  the  catechisms  and 
the  dogmas  will  take  care  of  themselves,"  replied 
the  old  gentleman,  neatly. 

Afterward  Alida  learned  that  Doctor  Groes- 
beck  was  the  vicar  of  a  small  mission  chapel 
which  was  ever  on  the  eve  of  being  closed  for 
want  of  funds,  and  she  made  a  mental  addition 
to  the  list  of  things  she  meant  to  do  when  she 
was  rich. 

By  and  by  came  tea,  much  too  strong,  without 
the  possibility  of  being  weakened  by  reason  of 
there  being  no  hot  water,  and  Doctor  Groesbeck 
produced  a  card-board  box  of  little  cakes,  which 
seemed  to  be  a  customary  tribute  on  his  part  to 
Mrs.  Van  der  Werff. 

"He  thinks  they  put  me  in  a  good  humor  to 
listen  to  his  sermons  when  he  brings  them  around 
to  read  to  me,"  she  explained. 

"I  suppose  you  do  not  often  get  to  church," 
ventured  Alida,  with  sympathy. 

"No,  my  dear,  I  haven't  been  to  church  since 
they  changed  the  prayer  book,  and  I  don't  see 


At  the  Top  of  the  Stairs  63 

why  the  devil  they  could  not  let  it  alone.  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  a  Christian,  but  thank  God  I'm  a 
good  Protestant." 

In  a  momentary  pause  which  followed  this  pro 
fession  of  faith,  the  voice  of  the  orphan  became 
audible  without. 

"Just  sail  right  in,  Miss  Sheepmouse,  there's 
nothing  doin*  only  the  old  bloke  and  a  couple  of 
dames." 

Into  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff  there 
came  an  evil  gleam,  but  she  merely  said,  in  a 
hoarse  and  hurried  whisper,  "Caroline,  do  you 
remember  Serena  Laurens?" 

"Yes,  poor  Serena;  I  hear  she  has  had  to  go 
into  a  Home." 

"Hush,  don't  shout  so,  here  comes  her  daugh 
ter.  I've  got  her  here  with  me;  there  was  not 
another  place  on  earth  for  her  to  go.  Remember 
that,  Van  Wandeleer,  and  don't  you  dare  to 
patronize!" 

"Alida  never  patronizes." 

"Well,  don't  let  her  begin." 

"I  think  Miss  Schepmoes  called  on  us  the  other 
day,"  Alida  said. 

Miss  Serena  Schepmoes  was  not  a  young  lady 
to  defend  from  patronage.  As  she  came  in 
panting  from  the  long  ascent,  she  stood  a  moment 
on  the  threshold,  just  long  enough,  it  seemed,  to 
grasp  the  situation,  then  going  to  each  guest  in 


64     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

turn,  she  displayed  a  most  discriminating  sense 
of  values,  deference,  reverence,  respect,  and  open 
gratification;  the  last  toward  Alida,  beside  whom 
she  immediately  took  her  place. 

"I've  been  out  looking  fora  situation,"  she 
announced  with  charming  candor,  while  it  oc 
curred  to  Alida  that  her  eyes  were  not  so  very 
near  together  after  all.  Her  hair  was  brown 
and  soft  and  wavy,  and  she  had  a  very  nice 
complexion.  In  spite  of  her  mother's  unkind 
remark,  Alida  was  disposed  to  like  Miss  Schep- 
moes. 

"Oh,  have  you,  really!"  said  Alida.  "What 
fun  it  must  have  been." 

"But  it  wasn't,"  said  Serena;  "not  just  one 
little  bit." 

The  account  that  followed  was  brief  and 
sketchy  and  picturesque.  It  appeared  that  in  a 
single  day  Miss  Schepmoes  had  offered  to  become, 
for  hire,  a  private  secretary,  a  figure  in  a  cloak 
department,  a  trained  nurse,  and  a  member  of 
the  chorus. 

"You  see,  it  is  always  better  when  they  know 
something  about  you,"  she  explained.  "So  I 
went  to  Mr.  Assenheimer  who  works  in  a  hos 
pital,  and  to  Bodkin,  who  manufactures  cloaks, 
and  to  Cassidy,  who  has  a  theatrical  agency; 
they  all  live  in  this  house,  which  gives  me  some 
sort  of  claim  for  civility  at  least." 


At  the  Top  of  the  Stairs  65 

"Why  did  not  you  try  Strapp,  too?"  Alida 
asked.  But  Strapp,  unfortunately,  was  a  widow. 

"The  only  one  who  was  any  good  at  all  was 
Cassidy, "  went  on  Serena,  "and  he  had  nothing 
just  at  present  but  the  Alhambra,  and  that  I 
should  not  like  at  all,  would  you?" 

Alida  was  quite  certain  that  either  would  find 
the  Alhambra  distasteful,  and  asked  about  the 
secretaryship. 

"Oh,  that  was  just  a  flyer;  I  walked  into  the 
biggest  office  I  could  find  and  asked  the  most 
conceited  looking  man  if  they  needed  a  private 
secretary.  Would  you  believe  it,  he  asked  me 
to  come  in  and  gave  me  a  chair  and  began  at 
once  to  talk  about  my  qualifications.  I  really 
thought  I  had  struck  something,  because  I  can 
write  shorthand,  and  I  am  a  pretty  good  type 
writer,  till  suddenly  he  began  to  laugh,  and 
said,  'Suppose  we  go  out  to  lunch  and  talk  it 
over. '  ' 

As  Miss  Schepmoes  paused  to  allow  the  signifi 
cance  of  this  announcement  to  take  effect,  Alida 
flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  "Of  course  you 
came  away  at  once,"  she  said,  indignantly. 

"Oh,  no;  I  only  said,  'You  have  not  asked  me 
for  my  references.'  'Yes,  by  the  way,  who  are 
your  references?'  said  he,  still  laughing;  and  I 
answered  just  as  calmly  as  I  could,  Mrs.  Tunis 
Van  der  Werff,  and  Mrs.  Valentine  Van  Wande- 


66     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

leer,  and  half  a  dozen  others,  ending  up  with  the 
Bishop  of  New  York.  You  should  have  seen 
him  stare.  'I'm  afraid  there  has  been  some 
mistake,'  he  said,  insolently;  'this  is  not  the 
Guardian  and  Trustee  Company' — and  I  couldn't 
think  of  anything  worse  than  leaving  the  door 
open." 

"What  are  you  two  talking  about?"  cried  Mrs 
Van  der  Werff,  shrilly,  and  at  the  same  time 
tossing  a  sofa  pillow  at  the  girls  to  attract  atten 
tion.  "Van  Wandeleer,  why  can't  you  find 
Serena  a  place;  you  know  all  these  shoddy  mil 
lionaires." 

"I  can,"  announced  Alida,  "and  I  will." 

"You  mean  that  you  will  do  your  best,"  said 
Cousin  Caroline,  correctingly. 

"No,"  said  Alida,  "I  mean  that  I  will  ask  Mr. 
Brisbane  to  give  Miss  Schepmoes  a  nice,  easy 
place  with  a  good  salary,  and  I  am  sure  he  will 
doit." 

"And  who  the  devil  is  Mr.  Brisbane?"  de 
manded  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff. 

"I  think  he  is  interested  in  railways  and  such 
things,"  explained  Alida,  modestly,  "and  he  has 
to  have  a  great  many  clerks,  so  I  am  sure  he  will 
be  glad  to  know  of  some  one  he  can  trust  im 
plicitly. " 

"Where  did  he  come  from?" 

"Peoria,  I  think." 


At  the  Top  of  the  Stairs  67 

"Lord!"  muttered  Mrs.  Van  der  Werff,  "how 
the  mud  is  getting  stirred  up!" 

Serena  kissed  Alida  at  the  door,  at  which  effu 
sive  sign  of  progress  toward  a  close  intimacy 
Cousin  Caroline  seemed  far  from  gratified,  but 
Doctor  Groesbeck  said,  in  shaking  hands:  "If 
.more  of  us  poor  Dutchmen  knew  how  to  say,  'I 
will,'  we  should  not  be  crowded  out  so  com 
pletely." 

"Don't  tell  her  that,"  snapped  Cousin  Caro 
line;  "what  she  needs  to  learn  is  how  to  say,  'I 
won't!'  '  But  in  a  milder  tone,  she  asked  him 
to  extend  his  parochial  calls  to  Kenilworth  Place, 
and  this  he  promised  to  do  in  the  spring,  when 
he  returned  from  Delaware. 

"I  shall  exchange  climates  for  the  winter,"  he 
explained,  "with  a  younger  man  who  wants  to 
see  visions  while  I  am  quite  contented  to  dream 
dreams." 

"But  won't  your  people  miss  you?"  asked 
Alida. 

"Not  very  much,  I  fear,"  he  answered;  "but 
I  shall  miss  the  squirrels  in  the  Park." 

"He  seems  a  very  kind  old  gentleman,"  said 
Alida,  when  she  and  Cousin  Caroline  were  again 
in  Stuyvesant  Square;  "he  took  being  called  a 
giraffe  so  well." 

"Humph!"  returned  her  godmother,  "I  called 
him  something  once  much  worse  than  that." 


68     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

And  as  her  lips  took  on  an  expression  forbidding 
further  question,  Alida  reflected  that  to  be  close- 
mouthed  was  not  the  most  engaging  gift  of  the 
De  Wints. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  END  OF  A  CENTURY 

One  generally  sees  people  a  second  time;  even 
casual  strangers,  if  they  have  anything  noticeable 
about  them,  are  sure  to  reappear  sooner  or  later, 
just  as  one  meets  the  Whistling  Coon,  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Stork,  the  Little  Old  Lady  who  still, 
wears  flounces,  or  the  man  with  scriptural  texts 
upon  his  hat,  with  a  regularity  that  would  be 
curious  if  it  happened  to  be  of  the  slightest  con 
sequence.  Thus  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  when  she 
recalled  her  visitor  from  the  sleet  storm,  reflected 
also  that  to  be  lost  in  the  largest  haystack  argues 
little  wit  on  the  part  of  a  needle. 

Meanwhile  the  holidays  came,  lingered,  and 
went  on  their  way,  which  meant  for  Alida  small, 
stupid  parties  and  the  callow  experimental  love- 
making  of  boys  from  college.  Once,  catching 
sight  of  the  Brisbane  ladies  in  the  vicinity  of 
Tiffany's  she  had  dropped  a  dollar  in  the  Sal 
vation  Army  pot  to  restore  her  peace  of  mind. 
Again,  her  zeal  for  tying  packages  had  given 
great  encouragement  to  the  rector.  But  to  really 
enjoy  the  holidays  one  should  have  money,  un 
counted  money,  in  a  coal-scuttle,  let  us  say.  with 
69 


jo     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

a  convenient  little  fire-shovel  close  at  hand;  and 
in  default  of  this,  even  K.  O.  K.  expressed  in 
orchids  may  meet  with  failure  in  its  simple 
mission. 

Christmas  in  Kenilworth  Place  was  less  a  feast 
than  an  ordeal  to  be  gone  through  with  grace 
fully.  All  the  ladies,  young  and  old,  went  to 
church  as  often  as  the  church's  doors  were  open, 
and  their  talk  between  whiles  was  of  sacred 
music.  Mr.  Ruggles  explained  the  causes  of  the 
current  war  to  an  attentive  audience;  and  Edward 
Volkert's  account  of  the  Feeding  of  the  Multi 
tude  at  the  Garden  was  listened  to  with  interest. 
For  it  was  the  one  day  when  reminiscence  was 
allowed  to  sleep. 

But  New  Year's  Day  is  different.  He  is  a  hard 
old  heathen,  and  strikes  the  table  with  his  fist  and 
bellows  for  the  glasses  to  be  filled.  He  is  like 
cold-eyed  Winter,  who  stalks  unbidden  to  the  fire 
and  remembers  the  cave  bear;  like  painted  Spring, 
who  used  to  flirt  with  Pan. 

They  had  been  talking  of  olekooks  over  the 
coffee-cups,  and  of  their  doubtful  offspring,  the 
degenerate  modern  doughnut;  of  pickled  oysters, 
and  of  New  Year's  calls. 

"When  young  men  began  to  wear  evening 
dress  at  noon,"  contributed  Mrs.  Bruyn  Van 
Gaasbeck,  "we  simply  hung  baskets  on  the  bells 
to  keep  them  out." 


The  End  of  a  Century  71 

"For  my  part,"  put  in  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer, 
"I  should  feel  very  much  neglected  if  a  few  old 
friends  did  not  call  to  wish  us  a  Happy  New 
Year.  Whatever  the  fashion  may  be,  I  shall 
always  be  ready  to  receive  whoever  comes,  and 
so,  I  hope,  will  my  daughter  as  long  as  she 
lives." 

"Yes,  indeed,  mother,"  assented  Alida,  loyally. 
"We  shall  have  a  crumby  cake  while  there  are 
caraway  seeds  in  the  market;  and  when  I  am 
ninety  I  shall  brew  the  last  New  Year's  punch 
in  a  coffee-cup  and  drink  it  all  alone  by  my 
self." 

"Oh,  make  it  a  teacup  and  give  an  old  man  a 
show!"  pleaded  Mr.  Volkert,  elevating  his  voice 
and  his  goblet  of  water  at  the  same  time.  Then 
with  fingers  tremulous  with  simulated  age  he 
croaked  from  a  mouth  apparently  toothless: 
"Mistress  Van  Wandeleer,  your  punch  is  excel 
lent;  let  us  drink  to  The  Last  of  the  Knicker 
bockers." 

"Edward,  be  silent!"  admonished  Grandma 
Epps,  regarding  him  with  pained  surprise.  But 
from  his  end  of  the  table  little  Mr.  Ruggles 
caught  the  toast,  and  springing  to  his  feet  ex 
claimed,  approvingly:  "A  fine  sentiment,  my  boy ! 
A  noble  sentiment!  Though  it  is  only  water  we 
have,  it  is  Croton  Water,  the  vin  du  pays  from  the 
old  Westchester  hills!  Ladies  and  gentlemen, 


72     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

the  toast  is  the  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers, 
whoever  he  may  be!" 

For  a  moment  a  smoldering  spark  of  fun 
leaped  up  in  Mr.  Bella's  ashen  eyes,  and  as  one 
pink  lid  was  lowered  in  a  wink  toward  the  doctor, 
who  applauded  and  cried  "Hear,  hear!"  it  was 
as  if  he  stood  again  in  some  forgotten  revel  of 
the  Troop,  and  drank  Green  Seal  to  Laura  Kean. 

"Whoever  he  may  be,"  repeated  Miss  Toll, 
and  she  and  Miss  Deusenbury  sipped  their  glasses 
reverently.  Cousin  Caroline  drank  with  affected 
gusto,  Alida  and  her  mother  laughing,  and  Mrs. 
Van  Gaasbeck  not  at  all,  while  Bella  Junior  for 
got  everything  in  the  fear  that  her  father  was 
being  silly,  and  Bella  Senior  had  no  idea  of  what 
was  going  on. 

It  was  the  last  night  of  the  year,  a  shabby, 
sordid  year  to  those  who  sat  at  Bella  Ruggles's 
table;  but  a  thrifty  one  withal,  that  had  left 
gowns  to  turn  again  and  gloves  that  would  bear 
several  cleanings  still. 

There  were  feasts  innumerable  that  night 
throughout  New  Amsterdam,  from  the  janitor's 
kitchen,  far  up  among  the  winter  stars,  to  where 
the  hansom  cabs  stood  black  against  a  million 
throbbing  lights.  Somewhere  the  ice  fell  rattling 
in  a  silver  bucket  when  the  fat,  green  bottle  was 
withdrawn,  and  somewhere  else  a  tin  can  went 
from  lip  to  lip,  and  everywhere  old  friends,  old 


The  End  of  a  Century  73 

times,  were  toasted.  But  if  the  ghosts  come 
back,  the  good  old  ghosts,  to  wish  good  luck  to 
all  who  can  remember,  then  William  of  the  testy 
temper  and  Peter  of  the  wooden  leg  touched 
glasses  in  the  down-town  boarding-house  where 
they  were  not  forgotten. 

"Bell,"  said  Alida  later,  when  the  four  young 
people  found  themselves  alone,  "don't  you  wish 
that  everything  amusing  had  not  been  over  and 
done  with  long  before  we  were  born?" 

They  sat  in  their  respective  seats  with  the 
breadth  of  the  disordered  table  before  them,  Bell 
and  Van  Gaasbeck  on  one  side,  separated  by  three 
empty  chairs,  and  Alida  and  Volkert  on  the 
other,  separated  by  one. 

"And  what  do  you  call  amusing?"  inquired 
the  doctor,  speaking  out  of  turn  as  he  polished 
his  heavy  glasses  with  a  napkin. 

"If  you  mean  New  Year's  calls,"  said  Bell,  "I 
can't  imagine  anything  more  stupid." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  anything  in  particular," 
rejoined  Alida,  "only  I  should  like  to  be  gather 
ing  reminiscences  to  entertain  the  young  when  I 
am  old." 

"Perhaps  by  that  time  we  shall  all  have  devel 
oped  imagination,"  said  the  doctor,  quietly. 

"What's  the  use  of  imagination  when  it's 
too  late  to  have  any  fun?"  demanded  Volkert, 
adding  boldly:  "The  trouble  with  you  people 


74    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

is  too   much  family   Bible.     I  would  not  stand 
it." 

"But  we  have  not  all  got  your  resources,"  said 
Alida,  and  Bella  Junior,  with  unwonted  spirit, 
asked,  "What  would  you  do?" 

"I'd  do  the  first  thing  that  came  into  my  head, 
and  trust  to  luck." 

"And  what  would  that  be  this  very  minute?" 
asked  the  doctor,  putting  on  his  glasses  as 
though  for  an  examination.  "Come,  don't  hesi 
tate!" 

"I'd  celebrate  to-night." 

"Good!"  said  the  doctor;  "how?"  and  both 
girls  felt  a  thrill  of  unconfessed  anticipation. 

"Am  I  to  be  in  it?"  asked  Mr.  Volkert,  cau 
tiously. 

"The  question  is,  are  we  to  be  in  it?"  said  the 
doctor,  laughing,  and  the  listeners  laughed  in 
sympathy,  for  the  doctor  was  a  serious  man  and 
would  not  have  gone  so  far  without  a  purpose. 

"All  right,"  agreed  the  younger  man;  "I've 
got  one  dollar  and  seven  cents,  and  I  want  to 
begin  the  New  Year  broke." 

"That's  just  what  I  have,"  said  the  doctor 
"one  dollar  and  seven  cents." 

"So  have  I,"  said  Bell. 

"And  so  have  I,"  Alida  echoed. 

"I  say,"  protested  Volkert,  gallantly;  "we 
can't  let  the  girls  chip  in." 


The  End  of  a  Century  75 

"Why  not?"  inquired  Van  Gaasbeck,  seriously; 
"I  don't  know  what  you  have  in  mind,  but  I 
don't  think  four  twenty-eight  a  bit  too  much." 

"We  might  go  to  the  theater  and  get  four  dol 
lar  seats." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Bella,  in  alarm,  "we  must  not 
think  of  doing  anything  that  requires  asking  per 
mission."  While  Alida,  though  she  felt  the 
force  of  the  objection,  ventured  a  hope  in  mas 
culine  invention. 

"Then,"  said  Volkert,  "there  is  nothing  left 
for  us  but  Trinity  Bells." 

"Trinity  Bells!" 

"Trinity  Bells!" 

There  was  something  rhythmic  in  the  very 
words  to  set  the  pulses  chiming,  and  neither  had 
hoped  for  an  adventure  half  so  daring. 

"That's  my  scheme,"  and  Volkert  became 
father  to  the  plan  so  well  received.  "We  will 
all  lie  low  till  bed-time" — here  he  winked  and 
indicated  with  his  thumb  the  parlor  door — "then 
we  will  do  a  sneak." 

"A  what?"  asked  somebody. 

"A  vanishing  act.  We  have  here,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  four  young  persons — if  you  don't 
believe  it  you  can  stick  pins  in  them — we  close 
the  cabinet  but  an  instant,  and  presto!  they  are 
gone." 

"Oh,  Dick,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  cried 


y6     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Bella  Junior,  turning  to  Van  Gaasbeck,  anxiously. 
On  the  instant  she  checked  herself,  but  all  too 
late,  for  had  the  syllable  left  anything  in  doubt 
her  cheeks  proclaimed  a  secret  free. 

"Thank  heaven,  that  cat's  out  at  last!"  cried 
Volkert,  with  unfeeling  mirth.  "Here,  puss, 
puss,  puss,  come  here,  nice  puss!" 

"If  it's  not  too  soon  I  wish  you  both  a  very 
Happy  New  Year,"  said  Alida,  from  her  heart, 
and  running  round  to  Bell  she  kissed  her  affec 
tionately.  To  the  doctor  she  held  out  both 
hands,  while  Mr.  Volkert,  draped  in  napkins, 
assumed  an  attitude  of  benediction. 

"It  must  be  a  comfort  to  find  that  we  are  not 
in  the  least  surprised,"  went  on  Alida,  and  Bell 
became  composed  enough  to  ask:  "Oh,  do  you 
think  that  every  one — " 

"Oh,  no,  indeed,  I  am  sure  not,"  answered 
Alida,  with  conviction,  and  Volkert  added, 
"They  think  that  things  gave  up  happening  fifty 
years  ago." 

"Of  course  you  understand — "  began  the  doc 
tor. 

"Nothing  could  make  me  breathe  a  word," 
Alida  interposed. 

"And  nobody  ever  listens  to  what  I  say,"  said 
Volkert,  reassuringly. 

"Of  course  you  understand,"  resumed  the  doc 
tor,  "that  the  evening's  entertainment  is  on  me. " 


The  End  of  a  Century  77 

"But  are  not  we  going  to  hear  the  bells?"  cried 
Alida. 

"There  is  nothing  better  for  the  appetite  than 
open  air,"  he  rejoined,  professionally. 

There  had  been  a  general  relaxation  of  rules 
in  honor  of  the  night,  and  an  upsetting  of  estab 
lished  usage.  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  had  chal 
lenged  Grandma  Epps  at  cribbage,  Bella  Senior, 
Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer,  Miss  Caroline,  and  Mr. 
Ruggles  were  to  make  four  at  whist,  and  the 
Misses  Toll  and  Deusenbury  were  to  decide 
mooted  points  at  either  table.  It  was  further 
understood  that  should  any  one  elect  to  sit  up  till 
midnight,  a  jelly  cake  might  be  found  in  the 
pantry,  together  with  materials  for  lemonade. 
Judging  from  certain  notes  of  mild  hilarity  the 
spirit  of  carnival  already  stirred  behind  the  red 
mahogany  doors,  while  in  the  dining-room  the 
fruity  ceiling  sent  back  more  merriment  than  it 
had  done  for  many  a  day. 

Volkert  engaged  in  an  inane  attempt  to  make 
a  chime  of  finger  bowls.  Bell,  still  pleasantly 
embarrassed,  idly  floated  almond  shells  with  eyes 
intent  upon  her  portent.  Alida  still  stood  so 
near  to  Van  Gaasbeck  as  to  be  sensible  of  iodo- 
form ;  and  the  doctor,  who  had  risen,  had  not 
regained  his  normal  color.  The  scene  was  pas 
toral  in  its  simplicity,  and  it  was  upon  it  that  the 
tempest  broke. 


7  8     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Of  course  there  are  one  or  two  reasons  just 
at  present — "  he  was  saying  to  the  new-found 
ally,  with  a  world  of  confidence  in  his  lowered 
tones  and  highly  magnified  eyes,  when  suddenly 
a  voice  of  ominous  calm  spoke  from  the  door  the 
one  word : 

"Richard!" 

It  was  a  time  for  instant  action.  To  hesi 
tate,  to  start,  to  turn  were  madness,  to  con 
tinue  looking  into  each  other's  eyes  utter 
imbecility. 

Alida,  opening  her  mouth,  thrust  out  a  small 
pink  tongue. 

"Don't  move,  please,"  said  the  doctor,  pro 
fessional  instinct  coming  to  his  aid,  and  taking 
a  coffee  spoon  from  the  table  he  pressed  the 
handle  gently  upon  the  unruly  member.  "Say 
R — r!"  he  commanded. 

' ' R-r-r-r, ' '  gurgled  Alida.     ' ' R-r-r-r. ' ' 

"Richard!"  the  voice  in  the  doorway  spoke 
again,  more  sternly. 

"Presently,  mother,"  replied  the  physician, 
stooping  to  get  a  better  view,  and  in  a  cheering, 
bedside  manner  he  went  on:  "I  perceive  a  cer 
tain  irritation,  but  nothing  that  we  cannot  over 
come  with  a  little  caution.  Keep  in  the  open  air 
as  much  as  possible,  and  I  will  give  you  a  pre 
scription  later." 

The   doctor    smiled   with   satisfaction    in    his 


The  End  of  a  Century  79 

diagnosis,  while  the  patient  credited  him  with 
unsuspected  talents.  As  he  dipped  the  spoon  in 
a  finger-bowl  and  wiped  it  on  a  napkin  before 
laying  it  aside,  he  said,  as  one  recalled  from 
thought:  "Ah,  mother,  is  the  game  over?" 

"No,  Richard,  the  game  has  apparently  just 
begun,"  replied  his  parent,  meaningly. 

"Has  it,  indeed?"  with  interest.  "You  see  I 
have  a  new  case.  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  was 
afraid  she  had  overtaxed  her  voice,  but  I  see  no 
occasion  for  anxiety." 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  Alida  murmured,  and 
Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  remarked:  "I  would  suggest 
that  in  future  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  sing  her 
negro  melodies  in  a  lower  key." 

"Oh,  it  is  too  kind  in  you  to  think  of  me  at 
all,"  replied  the  sufferer. 

"I  shall  watch  your  symptoms  with  the  great 
est  interest,"  the  mother  answered. 

"And  I,"  rejoined  Alida,  warmly,  "shall  put 
my  whole  trust  in  your  son." 

Meanwhile  Bell  and  Volkert  had  held  a  whis 
pered  consultation,  which  resulted  in  that  young 
gentleman's  circuitous  exit  through  the  pantry, 
which  had  a  service  stairway. 

"It's  time  for  me  to  hit  the  pike,"  he  said, 
departing. 

"Call  back  that  boy!"  commanded  Mrs.  Van 
Gaasbeck;  "his  grandmother  wants  a  handker- 


8o    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

chief,"  but  no  one  seemed  disposed  to  do  her 
bidding. 

"I'll  take  her  mine,  "  announced  Alida,  sweetly ; 
"see,  it's  not  even  unfolded,"  and  acting  on  the 
impulse  she  darted  past  the  elder  lady  out  into 
the  hall.  But  at  the  parlor  door  she  paused  to 
call,  "Oh,  Doctor  Van  Gaasbecjt,  I  have  forgot 
ten  the  name  of  that  medicine;  won't  you  come 
here  and  write  it  down  for  me?" 

"Of  course;  how  thoughtless  in  me,"  he  re 
plied,  and  hurried  after  her,  his  mother  follow 
ing  keen  upon  the  scent. 

"It  is  already  past  your  office  time,"  she  said. 

"I  rather  thought  I'd  let  the  office  go  to 
night,"  he  answered,  boldly. 

"Not  go  to  your  office!  What  will  your  pa 
tients  think?" 

"I  hope  they  will  think  I  have  a  consultation; 
that  is,  if  there  are  any  there,  which  is  doubtful. 
Besides,  I  don't  want  to  be  detained  to-night,  I 
have  an  engagement  with  some  friends  to  hear 
the  chimes." 

"What  friends?" 

"Oh,  quite  a  little  party,  I  believe." 

Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  did  not  press  her  question, 
but  cast  toward  Alida  a  look  of  triumph. 

"The  party  will  not  be  entirely  masculine,  I 
suppose,"  she  suggested,  with  unwonted  leni 
ency. 


The  End  of  a  Century  81 

"I  hope  not,"  said  the  doctor,  and  upon  catch 
ing  sight  of  Bell,  who  from  the  rear  made  signals 
of  instruction,  he  took  his  overcoat  from  its  peg. 
"Good  night,  mother,"  he  said,  shortly;  "and 
good  night  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  I  am  sure  you 
will  do  nothing  rash."  To  which  the  young  lady 
answered  with  a  smile  of  sweet  assurance. 

Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  had  not  missed  the  smile, 
and  when  the  two  were  alone,  she  turned  upon 
her  foe  with  righteous  wrath.  "Alida  Van  Wan 
deleer, "  she  ejaculated,  biting  off  her  words,  "I 
can  read  you  through  and  through." 

"Can  you,  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck?"  returned  the 
transparent  one,  defiantly.  "Then  it  is  from 
you  the  doctor  gets  his  cleverness." 

"I  shall  tell  you  exactly  what  I  think  of  your 
conduct,"  announced  the  mother,  her  cub-pro 
tecting  instinct  thoroughly  aroused. 

"Please  don't  tell  it  here,"  Alida  pleaded. 
"Your  son  insists  that  I  should  keep  away  from 
draughts." 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you,  you 
have  been  deceiving  my  son,  there  is  nothing  in 
the  world  the  matter  with  you." 

"Then  he  has  been  deceiving  me,  in  giving  me 
some  horrible  prescription." 

"Alida  Van  Wandeleer — "  began  Mrs.  Van 
Gaasbeck  again,  as  though  the  name  was  in 
itself  an  accusation,  but  the  other  interrupted. 


82     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Please  come  into  the  parlor;  it  is  really  chilly 
here,  and  I  should  like  to  ask  Cousin  Caroline 
what  she  thinks  of  a  doctor  who  could  play  such 
tricks  upon  a  patient." 

"My  son  never  plays  tricks." 

"But  if  he  told  you  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  with  me — " 

"I  did  not  say  he  told  me." 

"Then  how  could  you  possibly  know?" 

"You  are  a  wicked  and  deceitful  girl!" 

"Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,"  replied  Alida,  com 
posedly,  "I  should  not  say  such  things  if  I  were 
you ;  you  may  be  wrong,  you  know,  and  then  you 
would  feel  obliged  to  beg  my  pardon." 

"Beg  your  pardon!" 

"Yes;  wouldn't  you  be  sorry  if  I  were  really 
very  ill?" 

"Girl!"  said  the  other,  scornfully. 

"I  don't  mind  being  called  a  girl,"  rejoined 
Alida,  "but  I  am  neither  wicked  nor  designing." 

"Don't  you  consider  it  wicked  to  flirt?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,  do  you?" 

"I  call  it  both  sly  and  deceitful." 

"But  not  wicked." 

"I  never  said  wicked." 

"You  mean  you  did  not  intend  to  say  wicked. " 

"Not  in  the  sense  in  which  you  seem  to  have 
taken  it." 

"Then,"   said  Alida,   graciously,  "let  us  say 


The  End  of  a  Century  83 

no  more  about  it.  Of  course  now  that  you  are 
sorry,  I  shall  never  mention  the  subject  again." 

"Come  down  here,  Alida,"  whispered  Bell 
from  the  shadow  of  the  basement  stairs,  when 
the  battle  had  been  tacitly  declared  a  draw. 
"The  servants  are  in  the  dining-room." 

The  girls  descended  to  the  lower  floor,  crossed 
the  narrow  entry,  and  found  themselves  in  a 
large,  low  ceilinged  room,  whose  windows  were 
upon  a  level  with  the  street.  The  room  was  fur 
nished  with  odds  and  ends  of  furniture,  once 
impressive,  the  arm-chairs  were  large  and  com 
fortable,  and  the  shaded  lamp  gave  to  the  place 
an  air  of  homely  habitableness. 

"Alida,"  began  Bell,  closing  the  door  behind 
them,  "we  have  got  you  into  trouble,  but  if  you 
will  only  wait  until  I  can  see  Richard  I  promise 
that  everything  shall  be  explained  and  set  right." 

"I  think  that  the  situation  is  perfect  as  it  is," 
replied  Alida,  leaning  against  the  table  and  a 
little  flurried  by  her  late  encounter.  "If  we  had 
planned  it  ourselves  it  could  not  possibly  have 
been  better." 

"But,  Alida,  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  evidently 
thinks—" 

"Yes,  she  thinks  me  wicked  and  designing,  but 
then  she  has  thought  that  for  months,  so  why 
complicate  matters?  Why  confuse  the  poor  woman 
with  too  many  ideas  at  the  same  time?" 


84     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"But  the  things  she  said  to  you!" 

"Yes,  and  the  things  I  said  to  her!  Wasn't  it 
all  funny?" 

Bell  sighed.  "I  tried  hard  to  have  courage  to 
come  out  and  tell  the  truth.  Oh,  I  wish  I  could 
have  done  that,"  she  cried,  remorsefully. 

"But  that  would  have  been  a  thousand  times 
worse,"  Alida  answered.  "Fancy  our  having  a 
regular  row  in  the  hall,  and  all  the  others  run 
ning  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  just 
like—" 

Alida  intended  to  say  "like  a  farce,"  but  Bell 
interrupted. 

"Like  a  horrid,  common,  vulgar  boarding- 
house!"  she  cried,  passionately,  throwing  herself 
into  a  chair  and  pressing  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes.  "Oh,  Alida,  how  can  you  speak  to  me? 
How  can  you  have  anything  to  do  with  me?  Oh, 
why  does  not  Richard  go  away  and  forget  me? 
They  will  say  that  he  married  his  boarding-house 
keeper's  daughter;  they  will  laugh  at  him  behind 
his  back  and  snub  him  to  his  face,  and  only  call 
him  in  to  treat  their  butlers  and  housemaids,  and 
his  mother  will  hate  me  all  the  days  of  her  life." 

"But  she  does  not  hate  you  yet,  she  only  hates 
me." 

"When  Richard  hears  of  it—" 

"If  you  ever  let  him  hear  of  it  you  will  deserve 
to  have  him  go  away  and  forget  you." 


The  End  of  a  Century  85 

"Oh,  Alida!" 

But  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  who  had  taken  a 
book  from  the  table,  appeared  oblivious  of  Bell's 
affairs,  and  so  she  remained  till,  after  many  min 
utes,  the  latter  said:  "Perhaps  you  are  right." 

"Bell,"  said  Alida,  regarding  her  companion 
critically,  "why  don't  you  do  your  hair  that  way 
oftener?  It's  so  becoming. " 

"I  never  used  to  think  so  myself,"  Bell  an 
swered,  with  ablush,  "but Dick  says — "  and  after 
this  admission  the  narrative  of  how  she  came  to 
change  her  views  followed  logically. 

It  was  a  long  story  because  there  was  ample 
time  for  its  telling,  and  it  was  a  good  story  be 
cause  it  was  the  sort  of  story  that  is  always  good. 
It  had  a  witch  in  it  and  a  wolf — a  large  and 
meager  wolf — and  a  maid  in  a  tower,  and  a  lover 
who  had  apparently  no  means  of  getting  her  out, 
and  although  it  broke  off  suddenly  before  the 
fortunate  circumstances  appeared,  it  was  bound 
to  turn  out  happily  in  the  end. 

"Then  there  is  nothing  in  the  way  but  money?" 
commented  Alida,  incorrectly. 

"That's  all,"  said  Bella  Junior;  "just  a  little 
bit  of  money." 

"Ah,"  piped  Mr.  Bella,  bustling  in  upon  them 
two  hours  later,  "having  a  little  chat,  cosy  little 
chat,  I  see.  That's  right,  children.  I'm  going 


86     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

to  bed,  Bell,  dear,  your  mother  has  gone  to  bed, 
everybody  has  gone  to  bed.  Alida,  your  cousin 
plays  a  strong  game — rattling  strong  game  I  call 
it — no  scientific  nonsense,  no  holding  back  good 
cards  for  the  other  side  to  trump." 

"Did  you  and  Miss  De  Wint  win,  father?" 
inquired  Bell,  with  interest,  though  the  question 
was  hardly  necessary. 

"Sha'n't  say  anything  about  who  won,"  replied 
the  little  gentleman,  slyly.  "Alida,  your 
mother  plays  a  strong  game,  and  so  does  Mrs. 
Ruggles.  I  tell  you  it  was  a  battle  for  the  odd 
at  every  hand." 

"Oh,  father,  who  did  win?"  demanded  Bell  so 
earnestly  that  the  good  man  chuckled  with 
delight. 

"Table  secrets,"  he  replied;  "can't  tell  table 
secrets  outside  the  club.  That  used  to  be  the 
rule  when  I  was  in  the  Union,  and  I  don't  believe 
they've  changed  it  yet." 

"Did  you  play  whist  often  at  the  club,  Mr. 
Ruggles?"  asked  Alida. 

"Play,  my  dear!  why  I  was  a  regular  gambler. 
Twenty-five  cents  a  corner,  two  shillings,  never 
any  higher.  Lord  bless  my  soul,  what  games  we 
used  to  have!  Larry  Van  Sicklen  and  your 
father — God's  gentleman  your  father  was,  always 
the  same  whether  he  won  or  lost,  and  a  better 
man  to  finesse  a  bad  hand  never  sat  at  a  table. 


The  End  of  a  Century  87 

If  he  had  lived,  my  dear,  he  would  have  been 
Secretary  of  State,  my  word  for  it  he  would." 

"Is  not  Alida  very  like  her  father?"  Bell 
inquired. 

"Yes;  she  has  his  forehead,  but  her  mother's 
eyes.  Ever  see  those  lines  'To  Josephine's 
Eyes'  that  were  printed  in  the  Mirror?  Every 
one  said  Willis  wrote  them.  Wonderfully  clever 
poet,  Willis;  best  man  we  ever  had." 

"Was  my  father  usually  your  partner  at  whist?" 

"No,  no ;  the  two  Vans  always  played  together. 
My  partner  was  poor  Anthony  De  Wint,  your 
godmother's  brother." 

"Why,  I  never  knew  she  had  a  brother!"  ex 
claimed  Alida,  in  surprise. 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  She  would  not  be  likely 
to  speak  of  him.  He  died  out  West  before  you 
were  born.  I  don't  know  how  or  where,  though 
my  word  for  it,  there  was  nothing  that  could  not 
be  known  to  all  the  world.  But  they  are  a  close- 
mouthed  lot,  the  De  Wints,  and  Dutch  as  Edam 
cheese." 

"Did  Anthony  De  Wint  ever  marry?" 

"No,  indeed,  my  word  for  it.  There  were  a 
lot  of  tales  afloat  once  about  his  marrying  a 
squaw  or  a  Mexican  heiress  or  something  of  the 
sort,  but  bless  my  soul,  Anthony  would  never 
have  thought  of  being  married  without  telling 
me." 


88     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Did  he  look  anything  like  Cousin  Caroline?" 
persisted  Alida,  her  chin  upon  her  hand,  and  her 
eyes  regarding  the  fringe  of  the  table-cloth. 

"Not  a  bit;  not  a  bit;  though  of  course  there 
never  was  a  De  Wint  whose  hair  did  not  have  a 
little  twist  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead — a 
most  becoming  little  twist,  Alida,  I  do  assure 
you." 

"A  cowlick,  they  call  it,"  said  Alida,  laughing. 

"Perhaps  so,  my  dear,  perhaps  so,"  assented 
Mr.  Ruggles;  "but  for  my  part  I  never  saw  a  cow 
whose  hair  was  long  enough  to  curl.  Good 
night,  children;  don't  sit  up  too  late." 

"But  we  are  going  to  see  the  New  Year  in." 

"Waiting  to  see  the  New  Year  in,"  repeated 
the  little  man,  pausing  at  the  door.  "No,  chil 
dren,  waiting,  I'm  afraid,  to  throw  the  old  aside 
because  it  is  threadbare  and  out  of  fashion. 
Some  day  you  will  lay  the  years  away  in  laven 
der.  But  that's  the  old  man  speaking;  when  I 
was  a  boy  I  thought  the  Trinity  Bells  the  finest 
sound  in  all  the  world;  they  used  to  ring  'A 
Good  Time  Coming.'  " 

"But,  father,  it  is  coming  still,"  cried  Bella 
Junior,  springing  up  and  throwing  her  arms  about 
his  neck.  "Say  that  you  believe  it  is  coming 
still." 

"Not  coming,  daughter,  but  here.  That  I 
have  learned,  the  good  time  is  always  here," 


The  End  of  a  Century  89 

and  turning  he  kissed  her  gently  on  the  fore 
head — he  did  not  have  to  stoop. 

"And  won't  you  kiss  me,  too?"  said  Alida, 
stepping  forward. 

"So  your  father  would  have  kissed  my  Bell.  He 
was  God's  gentleman,"  said  little  Mr.  Ruggles. 


CHAPTER  VI 
REDDENS  LAUDES  DOMINO 

Somewhere  about  eleven  o'clock  there  was  a 
tapping  on  the  window-pane,  a  premeditated 
telegraphic  tapping,  and  Bell  sprang  up. 

"You  know  the  worst  of  us  now,  Alida, "  she 
said,  with  characteristic  eagerness  to  forestall 
compassion,  "even  to  the  area  signals!" 

A  moment  later  Van  Gaasbeck  entered  with 
snow  upon  his  shoulders  and  beads  of  melted 
flakes  upon  his  cheeks  and  nose. 

"I  say,  it's  snowing  hard!"  he  cried  at  once, 
as  though  a  snowstorm  were  the  one  thing 
needed  to  make  their  enterprise  a  complete  suc 
cess. 

"What  fun!"  exclaimed  Alida,  and  Bell  imme 
diately  agreed  with  both. 

The  doctor  wore  an  odd  little  forage  cap,  which 
being  brimless,  he  had  forgotten  to  take  off,  and 
a  long-caped  coat  of  peculiar  brown. 

"My  stormy  night  'get-up,'  "  he  explained; 
"a  friend  bought  it  for  me  in  Edinburgh  and  tried 
to  match  my  hair  from  memory, "  and  if  the  "get- 
up"  struck  Alida  as  anything  but  professional 
she  liked  the  wearer  all  the  better  for  not  caring. 
90 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino         91 

"My  throat  is  a  little  better,"  she  announced, 
to  make  a  final  disposition  of  the  coffee  spoon 
episode,  and  Van  Gaasbeck,  flushing  slightly, 
said:  "I  am  afraid  my  mother  was  not  very  sym 
pathetic." 

"Of  course  she  suspected  me  of  shamming  and 
said  so  frankly  after  you  had  gone;  we  had  quite 
a  little  chat,"  Alida  answered,  lightly,  and  when 
the  doctor  had  said  "That's  good,"  with  evident 
relief,  the  question  of  protection  from  the  storm 
took  precedence  of  everything  else. 

"Here  we  are!"  exclaimed  Edward  Volkert 
upon  the  threshold.  He  had  a  knack  of  becom 
ing  suddenly  the  First  Napoleon  by  putting  his 
hat  on  sidewise,  and  this  trick  he  now  performed. 

"There  was  a  custom  among  our  ancestors," 
he  began,  making  an  attempt  to  capture  Alida's 
hand  for  purposes  of  chaste  salute,  but  being 
repelled,  he  turned  toward  Van  Gaasbeck. 

"Hoot,  Mon!"  he  said,  in  compliment  to  the 
cap.  Then  the  ladies,  already  warmly  wrapped 
up,  put  on  rubbers  in  a  corner. 

"Be  sure  they  come  up  high,"  Volkert  called 
to  them;  "the  snow  is  knee-deep  now  and  com 
ing  down  in  chunks.  The  Eighth  Street  cars  are 
blocked,  and  they  had  to  leave  a  loaded  truck  in 
Union  Square." 

"Did  you  see  all  that  from  the  minaret?"  Alida 
asked  across  her  shoulder. 


92     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Oh,  I  didn't  climb  the  minaret  to-night; 
there's  too  much  fun  outdoors." 

Outside  the  atmosphere  was  like  a  fog  with 
thickly  falling  snow,  and  an  east  wind  from  a 
winter  sea  swept  the  corners  clean  and  piled  the 
sheltered  places  high  with  drifts.  The  air  was 
cold  and  clarified  and  tasted  on  the  lips  like 
sparkling  water. 

Kenilworth  Place  was  so  still  as  the  four  con 
spirators  stole  up  the  area  steps  that  one  could 
hear  the  muffled  sound  of  car  gongs  from  Broad 
way,  two  blocks  distant.  But  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
when  they  reached  it,  there  were  more  people  than 
at  noon — boisterous  people  who  shouted  and  blew 
horns  and  pushed  one  another  into  snow-banks; 
quiet  people  on  their  way  to  mid-night  church; 
colorless  people  who  dislike  to  be  in  bed  when 
others  are  awake.  It  was  as  though  the  year's 
death  were  something  to  be  glad  of,  as  though 
the  New  Year  in  its  first  sinless  seconds  might 
bring  a  benediction. 

Alida  thought  it  considerate  of  Van  Gaasbeck 
to  offer  her  his  arm,  and  there  was  a  dawning 
domesticity  in  the  act  that  amused  her,  but  she 
resolved  to  change  the  order  of  procession  when 
occasion  served. 

"Have  you  made  your  New  Year's  resolu 
tions  yet?"  he  asked,  when  they  were  well 
under  way. 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino         93 

"No,  not  yet,"  she  answered;"!  shall  wait  for 
the  inspiration  of  the  very  last  stroke  of  the 
bell." 

"But  is  not  that  a  little  risky?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  believe  in  giving  Providence  every 
chance,  and  besides,  there  is  always  'controlling 
one's  temper'  to  fall  back  on.  Tell  me  yours, 
I'm  sure  they're  excellent." 

"One  is,"  replied  the  doctor,  "magnificent.  I 
am  going  to  kill  off  half  my  patients." 

"How  noble!"  cried  Alida,  with  approval;  "are 
you  going  to  poison  them?" 

"No,  I  shall  take  the  surer  way  of  turning 
them  over  to  whoever  wants  them.  I  am  resolved 
to  charge  so  much  henceforth  that  those  who 
don't  pay  anything  will  be  doubly  gratified." 

"But  how  about  those  who  do  pay?" 

"I  hope  that  one  of  them  at  least  will  in 
future  neglect  his  duties  without  my  aid,"  said 
the  doctor,  and  Alida,  remembering  the  thumb 
of  Mrs.  Young's  domestic,  understood. 

Behind  them  Bell  and  Edward  Volkert  laughed 
like  children.  He,  in  his  favorite  formula,  was 
asking  why  a  last  year's  almanac  was  like  the 
harvest  moon  and  kindred  idiocies  which  she 
found  most  amusing,  for  never  in  her  life  had 
Bella  Junior  felt  so  young. 

At  the  elevated  station  there  was  something 
of  a  scramble  and  the  party  lost  its  personality 


94    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

to  become  part  of  a  migration.  It  was  by  sheer 
good  luck  that  on  the  arrival  of  a  train  they 
found  themselves  directly  at  a  gate. 

The  car  was  packed  with  noisy  pilgrims,  who 
clung  to  straps  and  to  each  other  and  to  the  icy 
platform  railing,  shouting  derisive  farewell  to 
those  who  had  been  left  behind.  Bell  and  Alida 
had  seats  resigned  to  them,  the  doctor  found  a 
place  to  hook  his  cane,  and  Volkert,  less  cautious, 
swayed  alarmingly  at  every  curve. 

The  expedition  now  took  on  the  aspect  of  an 
informal  social  function,  in  which  the  burden  of 
entertainment  rested  impartially  on  all.  Persons 
with  a  sense  of  humor  made  known  their  gift,  and 
girls  who  liked  to  scream  indulged  themselves  at 
will.  A  band  of  college  boys  sang  something 
loud  and  rollicking.  The  catch  words  of  the  day 
were  bandied  to  and  fro.  Before  Bleecker  Street 
was  reached  the  fat  man  who  kept  the  door  from 
shutting  was  forgiven,  and  at  Chambers  Street  a 
belated  Jerseyite  found  willing  hands  to  help  him 
through  a  window.  At  Rector  Street  the  gate- 
man  made  a  joke. 

"Trinity!  All  out  for  the  Pneumonia  Ferry!" 
he  cried,  whereat  the  college  boys  began  to 
cough  in  chorus. 

The  narrow  station  platform  overlooks  the 
churchyard,  and  here  there  was  a  moment's 
silence,  an  unconscious  catching  of  the  breath, 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino         95 

perhaps,  at  sight  of  that  last  white  meadow  of 
New  Amsterdam,  where  the  brown  church  stands 
mothering  her  graves  at  bay.  Through  the  still 
ness  came  the  first  sounds  of  the  chimes: — 

"CAPUT  APRI  DEFERO 
REDDENS  LAUDES  DOMINO 
QUI  ESTIS  IN  CONVIVIO." 

and  it  was  not  necessary  to  know  bell  Latin  to 
understand  the  message — Feast  and  praise  God. 
Somewhere  on  the  steps  Alida  managed  to  push 
Bell  ahead  while  she  herself  held  back  with 
Volkert,  and  as  they  climbed  the  slippery  street — 
the  Arcade  is  not  open  late  at  night — anxiety  to 
keep  together  was  the  one  thought  uppermost. 
Now  the  scattering  stream  of  people  began  to 
condense  and  close  together  until  movement  was 
no  longer  a  matter  of  individual  volition.  At 
Broadway  the  crowd  extended  from  the  high  rail 
ing  of  the  churchyard  to  the  granite  feet  of  great 
financial  Gibraltars  opposite.  From  Pine  Street 
above  to  Exchange  Place  below,  and  far  down 
Wall  Street  to  the  Treasury  there  was  massed  the 
population  of  a  principality.  As  the  moving 
multitude  of  faces  in  the  strange  violet  electric 
light  confronted  her,  Alida  clutched  Volkert's 
arm  more  tightly.  The  noise  was  deafening,  for 
those  who  were  not  blowing  horns  were  shouting, 
singing,  laughing,  and  protesting.  Nobody  was 
silent  an  instant.  It  was  impossible  to  stand 


96     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

still.  Eddy  and  counter-eddy  passed  each  other 
impelled  by  resistless,  purposeless  impulses,  and 
the  four  were  caught  and  carried  southward  to 
the  door  of  the  Empire  Building,  then  north 
again.  As  they  turned  they  became  sensible  of 
the  storm,  of  the  great  wind  bellowing  overhead, 
and  the  lash  of  driving  snow.  Now  they  were 
far  out  in  the  roadway,  with  slippery  iron  tracks 
beneath  their  feet,  now  nearly  at  the  curb,  first 
one  side  and  then  the  other.  A  yellow  car 
stopped  to  disgorge  its  load  of  new  arrivals,  and 
when  it  moved  again  the  crowd  was  driven  back 
upon  itself.  In  a  lull  the  bells  were  heard  once 
more,  far  off  in  the  black  sky: — 

"REDDENS  LAUDES  DOMINO!" 

Alida  heard  a  gong  clang  just  behind  her,  and 
when  she  turned  her  eyes  were  blinded  with  a 
flash  of  yellow  light.  Somebody  called  "Look 
out!"  and  she  was  lifted  from  her  feet,  pitched 
forward,  buffeted,  and  hurled  somewhere  out  of 
danger;  and  when  she  breathed  again  she  and 
Volkert  were  in  the  shelter  of  the  granite  column 
of  a  bank,  but  Bella  Junior  and  Van  Gaasbeck 
were  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Volkert  had  been  most  efficient  in  his  efforts 
to  protect  her,  but  now  that  she  was  safe  he  was 
laughing.  He  had  acquired  a  horn  and  sounded 
a  blast  upon  it.  He  had  become  as  a  dancing 
dervish  in  his  sympathy  with  the  tumult.  When 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino         97 

Alida  asked  him  what  they  had  better  do  to  find 
their  lost  companions,  he  replied,  optimistically, 
"Oh,  just  wait  here  till  they  come  along.  Say, 
ain't  this  great  fun?" 

She  did  not  think  it  was  great  fun,  but  kept 
the  opinion  to  herself,  while  her  eyes  searched 
everywhere  for  Bella  Junior's  red  last  winter's 
hat. 

"  ADESTE  FIDELES.     OH  COME,  ALL  YE  FAITHFUL, 
JOYFUL  AND  TRIUMPHANT." 

Now  a  new  diversion,  a  new  terror,  sprang 
into  being  spontaneously  in  several  places. 
Young  men  formed  prisoner's  chains,  and  hands 
on  shoulders  single  file,  headed  by  a  stalwart 
leader,  forced  ruthless  passage  through  the 
crowd.  In  such  a  way  the  college  boys  went 
past  shouting  a  music  hall  refrain,  and  presently 
the  thing  became  a  craze  that  even  women  and 
girls  took  up. 

"See  that  big  fellow  coming  this  way?"  cried 
Volkert,  in  excitement,  as  a  burly  Irishman 
opened  a  pathway  for  his  train  of  noisy  follow 
ers.  "That's  Rooney,  captain  of  the  supes  at 
the  Alhambra,  and  that's  the  Chinese  army  after 
him!" 

"I  should  think  they  might  be  Boxers,"  com 
mented  Alida,  not  impressed.  Her  veil  had 
become  unfastened,  and  her  feet  were  numb  with 
cold. 


98     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"OH   COME,  ALL   YE    FAITHFUL,    JOYFUL  AND 
TRIUMPHANT." 

"Break  away  there  or  I'll  run  yez  in,"  pro 
claimed  the  threatening  voice  of  law,  but  the 
Chinese  army  did  not  quail.  Alida  shrunk  into 
the  shadow,  but  the  eager  face  of  Volkert, 
stretched  forward  into  the  light  of  an  arc  lamp, 
was  a  shining  mark. 

"Say,  look  what's  happened!"  cried  Mr. 
Rooney,  captain  of  the  supes;  "here's  the  bur 
gomaster";  and  his  celestial  retinue  took  up  the 
cry,  "Here's  the  burgomaster!  Make  a  place 
for  Dutch!" 

It  was  evident  that  Dutch  was  favorably  known 
at  the  Alhambra,  and  Mr.  Rooney  made  a  place 
for  him,  which  place  was  that  of  a  human  snow 
plow  to  make  clear  the  path.  In  vain  did  Vol 
kert  protest,  using  all  his  strength  of  lung  to 
plead  responsibilities,  and  all  his  strength  of  arm 
to  grasp  the  granite  pillar;  the  Boxers  captured 
him  brutally  and  bodily  and  bore  him  struggling 
away. 

There  follow  other  breaches  of  the  peace  that 
it  is  the  humor  of  the  crowd  to  magnify.  A 
hansom  cab  attempts  to  gain  a  favorable  position, 
but  the  horse's  head  is  caught  and  turned  aside, 
and  the  vehicle  plunges  down  Exchange  Place, 
followed  by  the  howls  of  democracy  triumphant.  A 
private  omnibus,  filled  with  people  from  a  theater 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino         99 

supper,  is  ruthlessly  sent  back  amid  a  shower  of 
snow  balls  and  a  bellowing  of  horns. 

Alida  is  frightened  for  the  moment,  finding 
herself  alone,  but  presently  the  hubbub  becomes 
an  established  condition  to  which  her  mind 
adjusts  itself,  and  indignation  against  Volkert 
forbids  her  to  admit  herself  less  safe  without 
him. 

She  blamed  him  more  than  he  deserved  for  the 
exuberant  spirits  of.  his  friends,  and  she  blamed 
herself  more  justly  for  putting  too  much  confi 
dence  in  an  untried  champion.  But  the  problem 
now  was  how  to  recover  Bell. 

They  were,  in  the  event  of  a  separation,  to 
have  met  in  a  restaurant  in  Fulton  Street,  which 
makes  a  specialty  of  wonderful  things  in  chafing 
dishes  at  unusual  hours;  but  she  did  not  know  if 
Fulton  Street  was  up  or  down,  and  she  had  not 
listened  to  the  name.  Now,  by  an  unforeseen 
catastrophe  she  should  not  only  miss  the  festivity 
herself,  but  by  her  absence,  prevent  it  altogether. 
Thus  nerved  to  action,  Alida  started  boldly  from 
her  refuge,  in  quest  of  a  brown  overcoat  and  a 
red  last  winter's  hat. 

There  were  a  thousand  men  and  women  all 
about  her  who  would  stand  by  her  if  she  should 
need  them,  and  there  were  policemen  and  con 
ductors  who  had  ever  been  her  willing  vassals. 
Surely  the  very  graves  of  Trinity  would  stretch 


ioo    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

a  point  should  a  Van  Wandeleer  meet  with  peril 
in  New  York. 

Alida  allowed  herself  five  minutes  for  the 
search  and  then,  if  unsuccessful,  she  would  take 
a  Broadway  car  and  so  make  close  connection 
with  Mary  and  the  cook  who  would  be  coming 
back  from  midnight  mass.  The  plan,  though  not 
attractive,  was  highly  feasible.  She  tried  to 
shape  her  course  directly  for  the  point  where  she 
had  last  seen  her  companions,  reasoning  that 
there  they  would  also  look  for  her.  But  though 
every  one  was  disposed  to  give  what  aid  was  pos 
sible,  the  strength  of  the  opposing  currents  was 
too  great,  and  when,  after  persistent  effort,  she 
felt  her  foot  upon  the  curb,  she  was  before  the 
Martyr's  Monument,  a  full  block  too  far  north. 

Here  there  was  sudden  order,  and  the  police 
were  hurriedly  forming  people  by  ranks  of  four 
into  a  long  procession,  moving  slowly  southward 
past  the  church.  What  the  underlying  purpose 
was  Alida  could  not  divine,  but  the  arrangement 
gave  her  breathing  space  and  an  opportunity  to 
look  about. 

They  took  the  people  hap-hazard  as  they 
came,  making  random  combinations  and  strange 
quartettes.  It  was  like  a  child's  game,  or  a  gro 
tesque  cotillion  in  which  a  big  policeman,  white 
with  snow,  was  leader.  Alida's  place  was  next 
the  railing  and  beside  her  moved  a  portly  Ger- 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino        101 

man  with  his  wife  and  child.  She  felt  the  little 
Teuton  grasp  her  skirt  and  looked  down,  grate 
ful  for  the  small  friendliness,  while  it  began  an 
endless  story  in  its  own  peculiar  jargon. 

"I  guess  you  think  he's  got  an  awful  cheek," 
remarked  the  mother,  apologetically,  and  when 
Alida  had  disavowed  the  thought  she  learned 
that  the  family  resided  on  the  twenty-sixth  story 
of  a  building  of  which  the  father  was  janitor,  and 
that  they  looked  forward  to  mounting  the  stairs 
to  bed.  On  the  left  arose  the  babel  of  the  street, 
now  coming  to  a  hideous  climax;  on  the  right  the 
snow  fell  silently  among  the  graves.  She  could 
see  a  new  light  just  ahead,  and  judged  that  the 
bronze  doors  of  the  church  had  been  opened, 
though  the  gates  must  still  be  closed,  for  nobody 
went  in. 

"  PRAISE  GOD  FROM  WHOM  ALL   BLESSINGS  FLOW, 
PRAISE  HIM  ALL  CREATURES   HERE   BELOW." 

As  the  shuffling  regiment  advanced  in  fours  the 
police  maintained  within  its  ranks  an  almost  rever 
ent  silence.  If  one  so  much  as  raised  a  horn 
some  stout  official  club  was  there  to  strike  it 
down.  Suddenly  this  silence  became  universal. 
One  could  almost  hear  the  arc  lights  sputter  in 
their  violet  halos,  the  ice  wreaths  rattle  from 
black  trees  upon  the  graves.  Far  off  a  dull  roar 
of  steam  whistles  filled  the  air  as  Hoboken  called 
to  Harlem  that  the  looked-for  moment  was  at 


io2    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

hand,  and  Harlem  passed  on  the  word  to  Hunt 
er's  Point.  From  the  river  came  the  pipe  of 
tugs,  the  deep-mouthed  bay  of  liners.  Staten 
Island  was  awake,  Gravesend  proclaimed  the 
message  seaward.  Fog  bell  and  ferry  bell, 
church  bell  and  fire  bell  swung  together,  and 
then  the  great  bronze  bell  of  Trinity,  conserva 
tive  to  the  last. 

Alida  was  at  the  church  door,  standing  where 
a  soft  light  fell  across  the  snow.  Far  within, 
across  a  vista  of  unlighted  nave,  a  hundred 
candles  burned  upon  a  marble  altar.  The  church 
was  dark  and  empty.  No  worshiper  knelt 
there  nor  was  there  any  sound  of  song  or  prayer, 
only  a  great  light  shining  in  the  dark.  She 
caught  the  iron  grille  with  both  her  hands  to 
hold  her  place  an  instant,  and  standing  thus  she 
heard  the  first  stroke  of  the  hour.  The  janitor 
and  his  family  had  gone  on,  others  went  by 
behind  her,  hurrying  now  for  the  show  was  nearly 
over.  Sometimes  a  hat  was  lifted,  sometimes 
the  sign  of  the  cross  was  made.  Eight,  nine, 
ten — now  was  the  time,  if  ever,  for  her  resolu 
tions,  but  she  had  forgotten  them,  even  Provi 
dence  did  not  seem  inclined  to  accept  her 
challenge.  Eleven — there  was  some  one  beside 
her,  close  beside  her.  Twelve — some  one  was 
speaking  to  her:  "I  think  your  friends  have 
gone  on,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer. " 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino        103 

"Oh,  where  are  they?"  she  cried,  turning  with 
greater  interest  in  the  intelligence  than  in  the 
speaker,  though  it  was  a  relief  to  hear  her  name 
from  any  one. 

"They  must  be  half  way  down  the  block  by 
now." 

"Together?" 

"Yes,  hand  in  hand,  a  lady  and  a  gentleman 
and  a  little  boy,  I  think  that  they  were  talking 
German." 

"Oh,  I  was  not  with  them,  I  was  with — " 

Alida  paused,  realizing  all  at  once  that  she  was 
speaking  to  Cousin  Caroline's  mysterious  visitor, 
he  of  the  long  gray  coat  and  heavy  shoes. 

"I  saw  that  you  were  lost,"  he  said,  "when  I 
first  caught  sight  of  you  a  few  moments  ago,  then 
I  hoped  you  had  been  found,  and  then  I  feared 
you  were  about  to  be  lost  again." 

"No,  I  have  been  hopelessly  lost  for  the  last 
half  hour,"  she  replied.  "I  ought  to  have  gone 
home  at  once,  but  I  am  very  glad  I  didn't.  Is 
not  the  chancel  beautiful?  Was  it  not  wonder 
ful,  coming  on  it  so  suddenly  in  the  storm?" 

As  she  turned  again  toward  the  lighted  altar 
he  stood  beside  her  silently. 

"  GOD  REST  YE  MERRIE  GENTLEMEN,  MAY  NOTHING 
YOU  DISMAY." 

"Come,"  he  said,  softly,  "they  are  putting 
out  the  lights,"  and  the  policeman  who  had  been 


The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

thus  far  very  lenient  urged:  "There,  get  a  move 
on,  friends,  don't  block  the  way." 

"Did  you  expect  to  see  anything  so  beauti 
ful?"  she  asked  him,  as  they  "got  a  move  on." 

"Indeed  I  did  not,"  he  answered;  "as  the 
light  came  out  across  the  snow  it  was  like  some 
thing  Hans  Andersen  might  have  dreamed  but 
could  not  write." 

He  did  not  say  on  what  particular  object  the 
light  had  fallen  most  effectively,  and  it  was  not 
until  afterward  that  she  knew. 

"Hans  Andersen  wrote  about  tin  soldiers  and 
parlor  ornaments  and  green  peas,"  she  protested, 
allowing  the  conversation  to  take  its  course.  If 
one  is  to  converse  at  all  with  persons  who  have 
not  been  properly  introduced,  the  subject  of 
fairy  tales  is  as  good  as  another. 

"Yes,"  he  assented,  carelessly;  "and  Snow 
Queens  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Please  help  me  look  for  a  lady  in  an  old  red 
velvet  hat  and  a  gentleman  with  a  brownish 
yellow  overcoat,"  said  Alida,  hurriedly.  She 
could  not  quite  remember  what  the  Snow  Queen 
was  remarkable  for. 

"Did  you  say  the  coat  is  brown?"  he  inquired, 
looking  about  obediently. 

"Yes,  yellowish  brown;  an  acquaintance 
bought  it  in  Edinburg  to  match  his  hair;  it's 
very  long." 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino        105 

"The  hair?" 

"Oh,  no;  his  hair  is  very  short  and  he  has  on 
a  funny  little  cap." 

"Your  friend  should  not  be  at  all  hard  to  find 
anywhere,"  he  said,  encouragingly;  "I  suppose 
you  did  not  agree  on  any  particular  place  of 
meeting?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  remember  where  it  was.  You 
see  I  left  it  all  to  Mr.  Volkert;  I  never  thought 
of  losing  him." 

"And  shall  I  look  for  Mr.  Volkert,  too?" 

"I  don't  care  to  find  him,  I  would  much  rather 
go  home  alone.  I  begged  him  not  to  speak  to 
the  Chinese  army  and  he  did  everything  he  could 
to  attract  their  attention." 

"He  behaved  very  badly,"  her  companion  an 
swered,  gravely,  "in  speaking  to  any  army  you 
disapproved  of,  especially  a  Chinese  one." 

Alida  had  had  a  vague  hope  that  the  appear 
ance  of  Bella  would  make  a  fuller  explanation  of 
her  difficulties  unnecessary,  but  now  she  must 
explain,  and  the  story  being  somewhat  compli 
cated,  lasted  until  they  had  reached  the  corner 
of  Rector  Street. 

Here  the  procession,  of  which  they  were  part, 
broke  from  'its  order  to  mingle  with  the  rush  for 
homeward  trains.  The  din  had  broken  out 
afresh,  but  with  diminished  ardor,  as  hilarity 
gave  place  to  other  emotions.  The  instinct  of 


io6    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

self-preservation  was  asserting  itself,  the  inalien 
able  right  to  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  the  sur 
vival  of  the  most  aggressive.  The  pushing, 
jostling  mass  that  filled  the  roadway  from  the 
summit  to  the  elevated  railway  gave  a  sugges 
tion  of  what  might  be  expected  at  the  narrow 
station  steps. 

"Stop  a  moment,"  said  her  companion,  hold 
ing  Alida  back;  "there  is  generally  a  better  way 
than  following  the  crowd,  and  I  am  sure  there 
must  be  now,  only  I  don't  happen  to  know  it." 

"We  might  go  a  little  farther  down  town  and 
you  could  put  me  on  a  Broadway  car  before  it 
reaches  the  crowd,"  suggested  Alida,  conscious 
of  metropolitan  cleverness  in  the  familiar  strate- 
gem. 

"A  good  idea,"  he  assented;  "and  when  you 
are  safely  aboard  I  can  wait  for  the  next  car." 

"Please  don't  do  that,"  she  answered,  coldly; 
"I  only  meant  that  I  was  not  afraid.  With  so 
many  people  about,  nobody  knows  that  all  the 
rest  are  not  one's  near  relations." 

They  trudged  on  silently  for  a  moment,  taking 
the  street  to  avoid  the  greater  press  upon  the 
sidewalk.  Presently  she  said:  "We  must  cross 
over  for  the  up-town  car." 

They  had  come  now  to  where  Exchange  Place 
falls  rapidly  to  Broad  Street  and  the  labyrinth  of 
granite  canons  about  the  stock  exchange.  The 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino        107 

crowd  had  lessened  sensibly,  though  there  were 
many  who  had  taken  the  same  steps  to  circum 
vent  their  neighbors.  When  the  car  came  it 
seemed  best  to  allow  others  to  push  in,  until  it 
was  crowded  to  the  steps,  and  they  saw  it  take 
its  northward  way  without  them. 

"The  next  one  is  sure  to  be  quite  empty," 
Alida  prophesied,  "and  it  will  be  here  in  a  mo 
ment,  they  run  so  near  together. "  She  was  afraid 
she  had  not  been  very  polite  about  going  home 
alone  and  in  her  heart  she  was  glad  that  she  had 
not  to  do  so. 

Alida's  moment  passed  in  silent  expectation, 
but  it  brought  no  car.  They  could  see  a  yellow 
light  far  down  toward  Bowling  Green,  but  it 
was  apparently  standing  still.  Another  moment 
passed,  and  several  more,  but  the  light  did  not 
advance. 

"A  block!"  said  some  one,  and  thereupon 
everybody  said,  "A  block!"  And  there  was  the 
despair  of  old  experiences  in  the  word. 

"How  long  do  you  suppose  that  it  will  last?" 
a  woman  asked,  and  a  man,  who  could  not  pos 
sibly  know,  guessed  half  an  hour. 

"It's  more  than  likely  to  be  an  hour,"  put  in 
a  third,  and  a  fourth  more  pessimistic  still  opined 
that  the  block  would  last  all  night.  As  he  spoke 
he  started  hurriedly  toward  Rector  Street,  fol 
lowed  by  most  of  the  others. 


io8     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  be  foolish  for  us  to 
go  now  with  the  car  just  in  sight?"  Alida  asked, 
timidly,  for  she  felt  her  leadership  to  have  been 
so  far  anything  but  successful. 

"By  all  means,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  showing 
clearly  that  he  harbored  no  resentment.  "I  re 
member  once  wading  through  a  stream  up  to  my 
neck  and  coming  out  not  fifty  yards  from  a  bridge. 
Since  then  I  have  had  an  eye  for  bridges." 

Alida  laughed  politely.  "I  suppose  that  was 
in  the  West,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  in  Colorado." 

"You  must  find  New  York  very  different,"  she 
remarked,  absurdly  glad  that  he  was  not  dis 
pleased. 

"A  little,"  he  assented,  laughing.  "So  differ 
ent  that  I  sometimes  feel  like  a  Big  Horn  sheep 
in  a  flock  of  Southdowns.  You  who  know  every 
stone  in  the  city,  I  suppose,  have  no  idea  what 
it  is  to  be  a  'tender-foot.'  ' 

"To  be  a  what?" 

"I  said  a  'tender-foot, '  but  that  does  not  mean 
anything  here,"  he  explained.  "It  is  a  wild  and 
woolly  term  for  a  person  who  does  not  know  where 
all  the  street  cars  go  to." 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  she  answered,  with  a 
touch  of  patronage;  "I  don't  know  all  the  cars 
myself.  Besides,"  she  added,  "one  gets  to  know 
all  those  little  things  so  quickly." 


Reddens  Laudes  Domino        109 

"There  are  several  little  things  that  I  have 
learned  already,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer, "  he  re 
joined,  mysteriously,  and  Alida,  being  tempted, 
said:  "One  of  them  seems  to  have  been  my 
name." 

"Yes,  that  was  the  first.  But  you  must  not 
give  me  credit  for  more  astuteness  than  I  have. 
A  strange  lady  kindly  supplied  the  information 
one  evening  as  you  were  leaving  a  theater.  'See, 
there  is  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,'  she  said  to  one 
of  her  party.  It  was  just  before  Christmas,  after 
'The  Cat  and  the  Fiddle.'  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  saw  that  with  the  Brisbanes, "  said 
Alida;  "but  how  did  you  know  whom  she  meant?" 

"I  think  she  used  an  adjective,"  he  answered, 
and  Alida  was  troubled  lest  the  adjective  had 
been  "red-haired." 

"I  trust  that  one  has  not  been  your  only  dis 
covery  in  names,"  she  rejoined,  rather  neatly  as 
she  thought. 

"Yes,  that  is  all  the  luck  I  have  had,"  he  an 
swered,  laughing ;  "but  don't  you  think  it  encour 
aging?  Let  us  move  closer  to  the  buildings  out 
of  the  wind." 

In  the  more  sheltered  place  he  said:  "I  fancy 
I  shall  learn  my  own  name  in  some  such  acci 
dental  way.  I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  from  a 
stranger,  for  I  shall  have  to  meet  people,  hun 
dreds  of  people,  perhaps,  before  I  come  across 


no    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

the  right  one.  I  may  even  have  to  go  into  good 
society,  and  if  you  should  see  me  there  I  trust 
you  not  to  betray  my  sinister  purpose." 

"I  promise  to  be  most  discreet,"  she  an 
swered,  heartily,  emboldened  by  the  prospect  of 
other  and  more  conventional  meetings.  Some 
how  she  felt  the  difficulty  to  be  less  hopeless  than 
he  had  represented  it,  and  the  sense  of  having 
known  him,  or  some  one  very  much  like  him, 
before  at  some  forgotten  time  came  over  her 
with  puzzling  certainty.  Of  one  thing  concern 
ing  him  she  was  thoroughly  convinced;  he  was 
not  in  the  least  afraid  of  her. 

"And  when  shall  you  begin?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  not  quite  sure,"  he  answered;  "as  yet  I 
know  nobody  at  all." 

They  were  almost  alone  now,  for  the  disap 
pointed  patrons  of  the  surface  line  had  gone  over 
in  a  mass  to  the  elevated  party,  where  there  was 
a  revival  of  horns  and  singing. 

"I  think,"  said  Alida,  "that  is  I  am  almost 
sure,  that  if  we  were  to  go  down  this  street  a 
block  or  two  we  should  find  the  Fourth  Avenue 
cars,  and  they  would  be  almost  as  convenient  as 
the  Broadway." 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  YELLOW  SLEIGH 

The  snowstorm  which  had  been  an  accessory 
at  Trinity,  a  by-play,  a  swarm  of  dancing  moths 
for  every  light,  a  contribution  of  confetti  to  the 
carnival,  was  in  Broad  Street  the  one  thing  evi 
dent.  The  market  place  had  submitted  to  it, 
cringed  to  it,  feigned  death  before  it. 

It  was  a  city  of  silence  they  had  come  upon,  a 
city  of  the  palaces  of  sleep,  under  whose  col 
umned  porches  the  light  flakes  swirled  and  clung 
as  in  a  forest,  and  where,  through  gates  of  bronze 
and  iron,  only  the  wind  passed  in  and  out.  The 
buildings  fading  into  mist  seemed  immeasurably 
high,  the  vistas  infinite.  Somewhere  to  the 
south  where  the  old  canal  had  wound  toward  the 
river,  there  was  a  warm  light  near  the  ground, 
perhaps  a  sailors'  drinking  shop.  Everywhere 
else  the  light  was  green  and  violet  and  came  from 
the  electric  lamps  swinging  mysteriously  in  air. 
To  the  north  the  classic  fa$ade  of  the  treasury, 
where  Washington  in  bronze,  takes  an  eternal 
oath,  stood  out  in  strong  relief. 

"Really,  I  don't  know  where  we  are,"  she  cried, 
presently,  looking  about  her  in  bewilderment. 


ii2    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  think,"  he  answered,  standing  still,  "that 
we  are  in  the  center  of  the  world,  the  very  heart 
of  everything.  But  I  also  think  that  we  had 
better  get  away  from  here  as  quickly  as  we  can." 

"Yes,  I  am  afraid  I  was  mistaken  about  the 
car,"  she  confessed;  "but  which  way  shall  we 
go?" 

"Back  to  Broadway,  but  not  up  that  hill 
again." 

"Let  us  make  for  Wall  Street.  I  know  my  way 
a  little  now." 

"It  was  very  stupid  of  me,"  said  Alida,  re 
morsefully;  "I  must  have  got  Trinity  and  St. 
Paul's  confused;  you  know  there  are  a  lot  of 
cars  very  near  St.  Paul's." 

"It's  a  perfectly  natural  mistake,"  he  said,  by 
way  of  consolation. 

"You  don't  think  that  at  all,"  she  cried,  pro 
voked  by  his  complaisance. 

"No,"  he  admitted,  frankly,  "I  do  not;  I 
think  the  joke  is  decidedly  on  you." 

Alida  bit  her  lip  but  she  felt  herself  in  no 
position  to  contest  the  point,  and  when  he  went 
forward,  treading  down  the  snow  to  make  a  path 
for  her,  she  followed  meekly. 

"If  I  go  too  fast,  sing  out,"  he  said. 

Presently  they  crept  close  to  some  railings  to 
avoid  the  drift;  then  they  were  forced  to  plunge 
through  the  drift  itself  and  out  again.  A  few 


The  Yellow  Sleigh  113 

steps  further  on  Alida  took  advantage  of  a  small, 
wind-swept  oasis  to  retie  her  veil,  and  while  she 
did  so  her  companion  drew  her  fur  about  her 
ears,  with  that  invincible  contempt  for  small 
conventions  which  she  had  both  resented  and 
accepted  at  their  first  meeting.  The  next  start 
brought  them  into  a  level  waste  of  snow,  knee 
deep. 

"Keep  in  my  tracks,"  he  cautioned  her  across 
his  shoulder. 

"I  am  trying  to,"  she  panted;  "go  right  on." 

The  next  ten  feet  seemed  a  hundred  yards,  the 
next  a  furlong,  and  conditions  on  ahead  were 
not  more  promising. 

"How  many  miles  of  this  trail  are  you  equal 
to?"  he  asked,  turning  to  face  her. 

Alida  was  standing  still,  for  the  wind  had 
wrapped  her  skirts  so  tightly  about  her  that  her 
feet  had  for  the  moment  ceased  to  be  means  of 
locomotion.  He  was  at  her  side  directly,  his 
large  fur  glove  beneath  her  elbow  for  support, 
while  she  perforce  clung  desperately  to  his  arm 
to  keep  erect. 

"Please  spin  me  to  the  left,"  she  said,  trying 
to  laugh,  though  her  confidence  in  herself  was 
ebbing  fast. 

She  began  to  tremble  and  her  small  teeth 
clinked  together  nervously,  and  there  came  over 
her  a  humiliating  fear  that  she  might  cry.  But 


Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

she  recalled,  with  a  dismal  sense  of  fellowship, 
the  stories  she  had  heard  of  people  lost  in  the 
snow  in  mountain  passes  or  upon  the  prairies, 
even  at  the  Pole,  and  perhaps  it  was  a  memory 
of  their  usually  cheerful  endings  which  gave  her 
strength. 

"I  am  not  tired  in  the  least, "  she  declared  with 
outward  bravado  and  an  inward  suspicion  that 
her  voice  sounded  weak.  One  disadvantage  of 
a  death  by  freezing  is  the  difficulty  in  distinguish 
ing  its  symptoms  from  those  of  perfect  health, 
but  Alida,  taking  the  benefit  of  every  doubt, 
plunged  bravely  forward,  tottered  upon  the  in 
secure  footing,  and  nearly  fell.  She  would  have 
fallen  had  he  not  been  there  to  catch  her,  and  in 
another  moment  he  had  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and 
was  carrying  her  to  where  the  path  was  clear  again. 

"Please  don't,  I  am  too  heavy,"  she  protested, 
feebly,  but  he  only  said:  "Hold  fast,  we've  had 
enough  of  this. " 

Once  more  upon  her  feet,  she  found  herself 
above  the  drifts  upon  some  marble  steps  blown 
clear  of  snow.  The  distance  they  had  traversed 
from  Exchange  Place  was  scarcely  half  a  block. 

"Are  you  cold?"  he  asked,  placing  himself 
between  her  and  the  wind. 

"I  am  either  very  cold  or  very  warm,"  she 
said;  and  added,  with  conscientious  regard  for 
facts,  "and  I  am  just  the  least  bit  sleepy." 


The  Yellow  Sleigh  115 

"It's  pretty  late,"  he  answered,  "and  you  have 
been  wandering  about  an  hour;  the  thermometer 
is  about  thirty  and  I  scarcely  think — " 

"You  are  making  fun  of  me,"  she  interrupted, 
throwing  back  her  head  defiantly.  "You  think  I 
have  not  got  a  bit  of  pluck." 

"Don't  let  us  exchange  impressions  here,"  he 
remonstrated;  "I  should  be  sorry  to  hear  what 
you  think  of  me  as  a  pathfinder.  When  we  go 
on  I  promise  to  do  better;  I  must  have  fancied 
myself  on  Laramie  Plains." 

"I  suppose  the  girls  out  there  don't  mind  snow 
at  all,"  Alida  speculated. 

"There  are  no  girls  out  there,"  he  answered; 
"just  a  few  savages  like  me." 

She  did  not  reply  to  this,  but  announced  an 
intention  to  sit  down  and  rest,  and  he  brushed  a 
place  for  her  on  the  step  with  his  fur  glove. 

"You  can  only  have  a  minute,"  he  cautioned 
her,  "so  make  the  best  of  it." 

Alida  Van  Wandeleer,  sitting  in  the  early  hours 
of  morning  beneath  the  portal  of  the  New  York 
Stock  Exchange,  allowed  herself  the  luxury  of 
a  moment's  complete  indifference  to  circum 
stances.  She  was  very  tired  and  far  beyond  the 
hope  of  overtaking  Bell.  That  young  lady  was 
probably  now  experiencing  a  purple  quarter 
of  an  hour  on  her  account.  Mr.  Volkert  was 
possibly  looking  for  her  at  the  morgue.  The 


n6    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

very  desperation  of  the  situation  soothed  her. 
Presently  she  would  make  an  effort  and  get  back 
to  Broadway,  she  and  the  gentleman  from  Lara- 
mie.  The  cars  would  be  running  again  then,  and 
everything  would  be  well.  The  snow  was  never 
very  deep  in  Kenilworth  Place,  never  deep  enough 
to  justify  heroic  measures.  One  thing  she  was 
determined  should  not  occur  again. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  nice  if  a  cab  should  come 
along,"  she  remarked,  with  indolent  folly. 

"There  is  something  coming  along,"  he  an 
swered,  looking  down  the  street. 

Faint  at  first  but  every  moment  louder  came 
the  sound  of  sleigh  bells,  large  sleigh  bells 
jangled  out  of  tune.  They  were  coming  up 
Broad  Street  from  the  river,  they  were  waking 
the  echoes  in  the  granite  banks,  they  were  bring 
ing  back  the  older  echoes  of  Fraunces's  Tavern 
and  Federal  Hall,  and  the  brick-stepped  gables 
that  had  flanked  the  old  canal.  Pearl  Street 
woke  up  to  laugh  and  Beaver  Street  remem 
bered.  At  Wall  Street  a  ghostly  warden  of  the 
gate  reached  yawning  for  his  pike,  for  there  was 
a  fine  for  being  out  so  late.  The  Mills  Building 
looked  over  at  the  Stock  Exchange,  the  Telegraph 
Building  to  the  Morgan  Bank.  "What  new  thing 
have  we  here,"  they  seemed  to  say.  "To-mor 
row  shall  we  sell  electric  traction  short?" 

As  Trinity  was  ringing  the  half  hour,  the  cause 


The  Yellow  Sleigh  117 

of  the  disturbance  came  in  sight.  It  was  a  yel 
low  sleigh,  of  a  pattern  long  since  obsolete,  high 
in  the  back  and  curving  in  the  front,  where  the 
upturned  runners  ended  in  two  eagles'  heads. 
The  motive  power  was  a  stalwart  horse,  that 
wore,  with  ostentation,  bells  enough  for  two,  and 
the  driver  was  a  stout  old  gentleman  so  much 
wrapped  up  that  only  his  white  beard  announced 
his  age.  He  sat  alone  upon  the  forward  seat  and 
a  second  seat  behind  was  vacant. 

"Oh,  is  he  not  a  perfect  picture  of  St.  Nicho 
las!"  exclaimed  Alida  in  delight,  but  her  com 
panion  had  started  forward  and  was  already  at 
the  curb. 

"Good  evening,  sir,"  she  heard  him  say,  and 
the  driver  drawing  rein  replied  with  a  like  civil 
ity. 

"Don't  you  want  to  do  an  act  of  humanity  by 
taking  two  belated  travelers  as  far  as  Broadway?" 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  cautiously,  "I  don't 
know  that  I  do,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  do."  He 
appeared  to  think  the  antithesis  satisfactory. 
"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Waiting  for  you,  apparently." 

"I  rather  like  your  cheek." 

"It  is  not  cheek,  sir,  I  assure  you,  but  dire 
necessity.  Of  course  I  should  not  expect  you  to 
put  yourself  out  for  nothing." 

"What  will  you  give  me?" 


n8    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Anything  you  ask!     Five  dollars — ten!" 

"Have  you  got  the  money?" 

"Yes,  see  here." 

The  old  man  looked  carefully  at  the  tendered 
fare  as  though  to  be  certain  of  its  quality  before 
he  said:  "I  don't  want  anything,  my  friend, 
except  an  evidence  of  good  faith.  Whereabout 
do  you  live?" 

"We  want  to  go  to  Kenilworth  Place,  and  if 
you  would  drive  us  to  the  Broadway  cars — " 

"They're  blocked — tied  up  for  keeps.  That 
lady  there  your  wife?" 

"No,  and  she  is  very  anxious  to  get  home. 
We  were  listening  to  the  chimes,  you  see." 

"So  you  came  down  here  to  hear  them  better! 
That's  right;  that's  the  way  I  was  once  my 
self." 

The  old  gentleman  chuckled  at  his  own  dis 
cernment.  He  appeared  to  be  an  amiable  old 
gentleman,  and  not  pressed  for  time. 

"You  see,  I  don't  know  the  streets  down  town," 
the  other  began,  in  explanation;  but  Alida,  who 
was  now  beside  him,  interrupted.  "It  is  my 
fault,"  she  put  in,  justly;  "I  expected  to  find  a 
Fourth  Avenue  car  here;  it  was  very  foolish." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  young  lady,"  returned  the 
driver,  still  facetious.  "Why  most  people  come 
to  the  Stock  Exchange  expecting  to  find  Elijah's 
Chariot.  If  you  can  put  up  with  my  old  sleigh, 


The  Yellow  Sleigh  119 

hop  in  and  Sport  will  hustle  you  wherever  you 
want  to  go." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  very  kind,  indeed!"  ex 
claimed  Alida,  hesitating. 

"You  must  not  let  us  take  you  out  of  your 
way,"  added  her  companion. 

"I  won't,"  replied  the  owner  of  the  yellow 
sleigh,  composedly;  "but  my  way  is  any  way; 
when  a  fellow  gets  as  old  as  me  he  don't  much 
care  so  long  as  it's  a  good  road  and  good  com 
pany.  Young  man,  if  you'll  just  give  them  robes 
a  shake  you'll  find  there's  plenty  more  under 
neath.  " 

Alida  made  herself  very  comfortable  on  the 
high-backed  seat,  and  her  host  directed  the  oper 
ation  of  tucking  her  in  with  paternal  interest. 

"A  girl  will  forgive  you  almost  anything  t>ut 
letting  her  get  cold,"  he  said,  oracularly;  add 
ing  by  way  of  personal  information:  "I've  got  a 
granddaughter  most  as  big  as  you." 

"Don't  she  like  sleigh-riding?"  Alida  asked, 
divining  that  interest  in  his  young  relative  was 
expected. 

"I  guess  she  likes  the  riding  better  than  the 
sleigh,"  he  answered,  with  another  chuckle. 
"Last  winter  we  went  through  the  park  and  when 
some  fellows  called  out,  'Hello,  Santa  Glaus,'  it 
sorter  hurt  her  pride.  Everything  all  tight  back 
there?" 


i2o    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Everything  was  all  tight,  and  Sport,  who  was 
not  a  patient  animal,  started  briskly  to  the  sound 
of  his  own  discordant  music. 

"That  there  is  George  Washington,"  remarked 
the  driver,  pointing  with  his  whip  to  the  statue 
on  the  treasury  steps. 

"Yes,"  assented  Alida,  who  had  by  this  time 
remembered  something  of  her  former  visit,  "and 
that  is  where  he  took  the  oath  as  first  President, 
is  it  not?" 

"That's  right,"  the  old  man  said,  approvingly, 
"but  it  ain't  all  young  folks  nowadays  who 
know  that  much.  Ever  heard  of  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker?" 

"Yes,  he  was  Washington  Irving." 

"Correct,  young  lady!  Go  up  head!  Now 
listen;  old  Diedrich  rode  once  in  this  very 
sleigh  just  where  you're  sitting." 

"Did  he,  really?"  cried  Alida  in  delight. 
"Did  Washington  Irving  ride  in  this  sleigh?" 

"That's  what  he  did,  and  no  mistake.  He 
hired  it  from  my  own  father  and  drove  to  Ford- 
ham;  he  and  old  man  Paulding.  I  used  to  hear 
they  got  spilled  out  coming  back,  but  then  you 
never  could  depend  on  pop." 

"How  very  interesting;  I  shall  remember  this 
drive  as  long  as  I  live." 

"So'll  I,  I  guess,  but  then  I  ain't  got  more'n 
a  century  to  do  it.  Ever  read  the  History  of 


The  Yellow  Sleigh  121 

New  York?" — There. is  only  one  History  of  New 
York. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Alida;  "I  am  descended  from 
nearly  everybody  mentioned  in  it!" 

To  one  who  did  not  know  Alida  the  speech 
might  have  sounded  vainglorious,  but  in  truth 
she  spoke  as  unaffectedly  as  one  who  being  on 
the  planet  Mars  might  say,  "On  Earth  I  was  an 
Anglo-Saxon. " 

"Is  that  so!"  exclaimed  the  driver,  turning 
about  with  interest.  "Don't  think  me  curious, 
but  I  am;  what's  your  name?" 

Alida  told  him  modestly,  and  added  that  her 
mother  was  a  De  Wint. 

"Good  names,"  he  said,  in  comment;  "first- 
class  names;  you  must  be  related  to  old 
Jacobus  Van  Wandeleer  and  to  Peterus  De 
Wint." 

"Yes,  he  built  a  mill  near  Union  Square.  It 
was  burned  by  the  Indians  in  1639,  but  of  course 
you  don't  remember  that." 

This  was  not  exactly  what  she  had  meant  to 
say,  but  the  laughter  of  the  gentleman  at  her  side 
prevented  explanation,  and  the  other,  hugely 
gratified,  laughed  too. 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  he  chuckled,  "a 
feller  as  old  as  me  don't  count  a  hundred  years 
or  so  as  much." 

"I  suppose  you  have  lived  a  long  time  in  New 


122    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

York,"  suggested  the  passenger,  who  till  now 
had  been  content  to  listen. 

"I  don't  know  as  I'd  call  it  so  long,  looking 
back,"  the  driver  answered,  "but  I've  been  here 
seventy-nine  years  next  March,  and  every  one  of 
them  in  the  old  First  Ward. " 

"Indeed!  there  must  have  been  a  great  many 
changes  in  that  time." 

"Changes!  I  call  'em  landslides.  I  was  born 
and  raised  a  sloop-painter  down  near  Corlears 
Slip.  We  used  to  pull  the  boats  right  up  most  to 
the  kitchen  door,  and  now  the  river's  two  blocks 
off." 

"What  happened  to  the  river?"  asked  Alida, 
scenting  a  catastrophe  of  which  she  had  not 
heard. 

"They  built  a  bulkhead,"  he  replied,  lacon 
ically;  adding,  after  a  moment,  "it  spoiled  the 
painting  business,  but  it  wasn't  bad  for  real 
estate." 

"Do  you  live  there  still?"  Alida  asked. 

"Yes'm,  and  I've  got  the  littlest  house  and 
pay  the  biggest  rent  (figuring  space  and  interest 
on  the  value)  of  any  one  in  the  whole  town.  My 
folks  all  want  me  to  go  uptown  where  I  can  die 
in  style  by  electric  light,  and  have  an  elevator  to 
hist  the  undertaker  up,  but  I  tell  'em  I'm  nothing 
but  a  wharf  rat  and  I  like  the  smell." 

They    were    plunging    now    through    narrow 


The  Yellow  Sleigh  123 

Nassau  Street,  and  Sport,  as  he  broke  the  road, 
shook  the  snow  from  his  large  ears,  and  tossed 
his  head  with  unfeigned  elation.  Pine,  Cedar, 
Liberty  Streets  were  passed,  then  down  the  hill 
to  Maiden  Lane  and  up  again  to  Fulton  Street. 

"That  used  to  be  the  Vly  Market  down  there 
by  the  river,"  said  the  sloop  painter,  indicating 
the  direction  generally.  "Vly  means  marsh,  or 
swamp,  you  know.  I've  got  no  patience  with 
folks  who  call  it  the  Fly  Market;  there's  no  sense 
in  it — but,  pshaw,  them  that  used  to  argue  over 
such  things  is  mostly  dead  now.  Some  day  there 
won't  be  anybody  left  who  cares  a  durn. " 

"Oh,  yes,  there  will,"  replied  the  other  man. 
"There  will  be  always  somebody  to  keep  alive 
the  old  traditions,  and  to  make  new  ones  for 
themselves.  I'm  sure  your  father  thought  the 
Astor  House  an  innovation,  and  to-day  there 
are  thousands  who  would  mourn  to  see  it  torn 
down." 

"Do  you  understand  that?"  Alida  asked,  turn 
ing  to  him  in  surprise.  "Do  you  understand  that 
any  one  can  really  love  New  York?" 

"I  do  myself  for  one,"  he  answered. 

"But  how  can  you?"  she  protested;  "you  have 
been  here  such  a  short  time,  and  most  strangers 
think  there  is  nothing  in  New  York  but  theaters 
and  department  stores  and  noise." 

"Oh,  I  have  come  across  several  other  things," 


124    Tfo  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

he  said;  "besides,  please  don't  forget  that  my 
family  came  from  here;  I'm  rather  proud  of 
that." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  as  the  wharf  rat 
steered  his  course  around  a  drift  at  Ann  Street, 
which  feat  successfully  accomplished,  he  turned 
suddenly  to  ask,  "And  what  might  you  call  your 
self,  young  man?" 

"I  call  myself  Anthony  Bogardus,"  replied  the 
young  man,  laughing  that  the  question  should 
have  been  so  aptly  framed. 

"Dutch,  too!  as  Dutch  as  schnapps.  Dominie 
Bogardus  married  Anekje  Jans.  Maybe  you've 
been  down  to  Trinity  looking  after  your  estate. 
But  don't  put  off  your  wedding  till  you  get  a 
title — Whoa  there,  Sport!  Steady,  old  man, 
we're  driving  the  aristocracy — I  used  to  know  a 
Bogardus  who  was  a  purser  on  a  steamboat.  He 
used  to  sift  the  money  through  a  ladder  and  the 
company  got  every  cent  that  stuck.  No,  come 
to  think  of  it,  his  name  was  Rinkout — when  a 
feller  gets  as  old  as  me  he  don't  remember 
names.  Bogardus  was  a  broad-faced  boy  with 
freckles,  who  would  rather  fight  than  eat,  and  he 
and  I  had  a  set-to  once  on  old  Pier  Seven." 

"How  long  ago  was  that?" 

"Oh,  more'n  sixty  years.  His  name  was  Tunis. " 

"That  was  my  grandfather's  name,"  remarked 
the  gentleman  who  called  himself  Bogardus, 


The  Yellow  Sleigh  125 

"and  he  had  the  same  attractive  qualities.  Do 
you  recall  what  became  of  your  young  friend?" 

"No;  I  lost  track  of  him.  He  lived  uptown 
somewhere  by  St.  Mark's,  and  just  came  down 
about  the  docks  to  look  for  trouble.  His  mother 
was  a  widow  woman,  and  when  she  died  he 
struck  for  out  West.  That's  the  way  with  all  of 
them." 

To  Alida,  who  had  been  listening  with  breath 
less  interest,  the  sudden  exit  of  the  broad-faced 
boy  was  disappointing,  and  her  views  of  trusting 
to  chance  for  information  underwent  revision. 

"I  hope  St.  Mark's  is  an  exclusive  neighbor 
hood,"  said  her  companion,  in  an  undertone. 

"Oh,  very,"  she  assured  him;  "the  De  Wints 
all  go  there  when  they  die." 

"The  De  Wints  owned  a  bowerie  next  to  my 
mother's  great-great-grandfather,  Peter  Kier- 
sted,"  put  in  the  old  gentleman,  whose  hearing 
was  remarkable.  "But  some  fool  ancestor  sold 
it  for  sixty  dollars  an  acre." 

"We  sold  ours  for  beaver  skins,"  rejoined 
Alida,  with  a  touch  of  pride. 

"I  can't  go  further  back  than  old  Pier  Seven," 
said  the  descendant  of  one  belligerent,  modestly, 
"but  I  shall  put  up  a  tablet  to  commemorate  that 
fight." 

"Then  you  can  put  me  in  as  winner,"  chuckled 
their  host. 


126    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Yes,  I  will  do  that  with  pleasure,  only  you 
haven't  told  us  your  name  yet." 

"Well,  you  can  just  put  on  Douw  Aukes;  that's 
good  enough  to  be  forgotten  by." 

They  were  turning  into  Printing  House  Square, 
where  far  overhead  the  lighted  windows  of  the 
newspaper  offices  glowed  like  a  fleet  of  fire  bal 
loons,  and  opposite,  a  misty  moon,  the  clock 
upon  the  City  Hall  indicated  dimly  that  the  hour 
was  a  quarter  to  one. 

"Alderman  Aukes,  I  used  to  be,  when  old 
Fernando  Wood  ran  things  to  suit  himself  across 
the  way,"  went  on  the  old  gentleman,  with  a 
motion  of  his  whip  toward  the  low,  white  build 
ing,  "but  now  I'm  nobody  in  particular.  They 
did  once  call  me  judge,  but  that  was  foolishness, 
because  I  was  defeated;  and  sometimes  the 
young  fellows  down  in  South  Street  call  me  the 
Last  of  the  Knickerbockers." 

"But  don't  you  like  to  be  called  that?"  Alida 
asked. 

"Oh,  I  take  it  as  a  compliment  all  right," 
answered  Mr.  Aukes,  "but  it's  sorter  sad  to  be 
the  tail  end  of  even  a  good  thing." 

"Why,  isn't  that  a  Third  Avenue  car?"  cried 
Alida,  as  a  red  conveyance  shot  past.  "If  it  is 
we  had  better  take  the  next.  It  won't  be  very 
far  to  walk  across." 


The  Yellow  Sleigh  127 

"What's  the  matter?  Is  Diedrich  Knicker 
bocker's  seat  uncomfortable?" 

"Oh,  no,  it's  perfectly  delightful,  only — " 

"Sure  you  haven't  got  anything  against  the 
seat?" 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!" 

"Well,  have  you  got  anything  against  me?" 

"No,  Mr.  Aukes,  you  have  been  so  kind  I — 
we  can  never  thank  you  enough." 

"I  ain't  looking  for  thanks,  I'm  looking  for 
company,"  replied  the  former  alderman.  "I 
guess  likely  this  is  going  to  be  my  last  ride. 
When  a  fellow  gets  to  be  as  old  as  me  he  can't 
take  chances,  so  I  started  out  right  off  as  soon 
as  the  New  Year  struck.  This  makes  seventy-six 
years  of  sleigh-rides,  for  I  missed  the  four  years 
of  the  war,  and  you'll  be  the  first  girl  I  ever 
drove  out  without  taking  safe  back  to  her  own 
door." 

"I  won't  be  that,"  Alida  answered;  "you  will 
have  to  drive  me  now  to  Kenilworth  Place." 

"Good!"  cried  the  alderman.  "We'll  be  there 
before  you  know  it.  I'll  take  you  by  the  road 
your  grandmothers  used  to  go.  Wake  up,  Sport, 
and  shake  yourself ;  we're  off  for  Bowerie  Lane. " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  BOWERIE  LANE 

Once  on  the  beaten  thoroughfares  the  old  horse 
seemed  to  catch  the  spirit  of  the  night,  the  large 
bells  jingled  deafeningly,  and  the  yellow  sleigh 
plowed  through  impeding  hillocks  with  the  in 
difference  of  a  Maasdam  lugger  for  a  Channel 
sea.  They  crossed  a  labyrinth  of  tracks,  taking 
the  side  toward  the  Hall  of  Records  to  avoid  the 
salted,  sloppy  entrance  to  Brooklyn  Bridge,  which 
opened  in  long  arcades  like  some  pale  grotto  of  the 
moon  peopled  with  infrequent,  hurrying  shadows, 
and  so  bore  northward  into  Center  Street. 

"Tombs,  to  the  left,"  announced  their  host, 
"and  even  that's  rebuilt.  You  wouldn't  think 
there  ever  was  a  lake  here,  the  Collect  Pond  that 
Fulton  tried  his  steamboat  on.  At  the  outlet 
used  to  be  the  'Kissing  Bridge' — I  never  heard 
the  toll  was  legally  repealed — but  they've  got  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs  now  in  its  place.  A  fellow  could 
write  a  piece  of  poetry  on  that  if  he  knew  how, 
couldn't  he?" 

"You  ought  yourself  to  write  a  book  on  ancient 
customs,   Alderman,"   suggested  he  whose  one 
authenticated  name  was  Anthony. 
128 


In  Bowerie  Lane  129 

"Oh,  there's  too  many  books  already  about 
them,  and  mostly  wrong,"  replied  the  ex-official, 
settling  himself  comfortably.  "I  used  to  follow 
up  the  chaps  who  wrote,  but  I  never  got  thanked 
for  it.  Why,  there  was  a  time  when  folks  who 
wanted  to  join  societies  came  to  me  to  find  out 
who  their  grandfathers  were.  This  here  is  Chat 
ham  Square  where  Wolfert  Webber's  tavern  used 
to  be." 

"And  what  was  that  celebrated  for?" 

"Oh,  dances,  principally.  Way  back  in  six 
teen  something — when  a  fellow  gets  to  be  as  old 
as  me  he  don't  remember  dates — they  used  to 
drive  out  here  from  town  and  in  from  out  of  town 
and  have  a  dance  and  go  home  early — the  earlier 
the  better,  it  gave  them  more  time  on  the  road. 
In  those  days  girls  weren't  in  such  a  hurry  to  get 
home.  The  sleighs  were  strung  out  all  the  way 
from  here  to  Peter  Stuyvesant's  pear  tree,  and 
now  me  and  Sport's  the  tail  end  of  the  show." 

Perhaps  Douw  Aukes  accentuated  the  pathos 
of  his  position  needlessly,  an  accepted  privilege 
of  age,  but  Chatham  Square,  even  on  a  snowy 
night,  can  stand  a  little  glamour,  and  it  was  ex 
cusable  that  he  should  swerve  slightly  from  the 
course  from  time  to  time  for  picturesque  effect. 

The  sleigh,  now  turning  sharply  to  the  left 
again  to  avoid  some  bare  ground  beneath  the 
elevated  railroad  station,  sped  up  a  squalid, 


The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

crooked  street  where  faint  lights,  green  and  red, 
burned  over  narrow  doorways.  From  the  iron 
work  of  overhanging  fire  escapes  swung  long  red 
banners  bearing  Chinese  characters,  and  even 
through  the  snowy  air  came  whiffs  of  incense  and 
strange,  intangible  odors.  A  door  opened  noise 
lessly  and  closed  again,  as  though  whoever  had 
intended  to  come  out  preferred  to  do  so  when  the 
street  was  deserted.  Once  a  yellow  shade  was 
drawn  aside  and  a  grotesque  face  peered  down 
at  them. 

"This  here  is  Chinatown,"  said  Aukes,  "just 
smell  the  dope ! ' '  To  a  solitary  policeman  swing 
ing  his  club  beneath  a  lamp  he  called:  "Hello, 
Joe,  are  all  the  side  doors  closed?" 

"Say,  Rip  Van  Winkle,  aren't  you  dead  yet?" 
returned  the  official,  genially.  "Go  back  to  bed 
and  sleep  another  hundred  years." 

"That's  Joe  Brennan,"  chuckled  Mr.  Aukes, 
but  he  did  not  explain  why  Joe  was  interesting. 
"Excuse  my  talking  all  the  time,"  he  added,  "I 
always  was  a  hand  to  talk;  but  then  you  ain't 
obliged  to  listen." 

"Oh,  but  we  love  to  listen,"  Alida  protested 
on  behalf  of  both,  which  was  fortunate  if  true, 
for  Mr.  Aukes,  when  not  turned  half  around 
toward  his  guests,  was  ever  on  the  eve  of  turn 
ing,  and  intercourse  between  them  had  so  far 
been  confined  to  very  hurried  glances  of  amuse- 


In  Bowerie  Lane  131 

ment.  Once  when  Anthony  pulled  the  robes 
more  tightly  about  her  their  hands  had  met  by 
accident,  and  once  to  call  attention  to  some 
object  on  the  sidewalk  she  had  struck  him  gently 
with  her  muff.  When  some  men,  emerging  from 
a  cellar,  shouted  witticisms,  inspired  by  the 
yellow  sleigh,  she  drew  unconsciously  a  little 
closer. 

"I'm  sorry  there  ain't  more  to  see,"  said  Mr. 
Aukes,  regretfully;  "there  was  a  time  when  it 
wasn't  safe  to  show  yourself  here  at  night." 

When  they  had  passed  again  beneath  an  ele 
vated  railway  structure,  a  broad  street  stretched 
before  them  northward,  glowing  with  lights. 

"It  is  not  bedtime  here  at  all  events,"  com 
mented  Anthony. 

"The  Bowery  sleeps  with  one  eye  open," 
chuckled  Mr.  Aukes;  "she  knows  her  business." 
And  the  business  of  the  Bowery  appeared  to  be 
connected  with  noise. 

A  train  flew  rattling  overhead  half  hidden  in  a 
cloud  of  steam;  an  electric  plow  went  down, 
reaping  the  whirlwind  and  leaving  high  banks  of 
soiled  snow  in  its  trail.  There  were  surface  cars 
at  intervals,  filled  with  passengers,  and  many 
shops,  where  lights  were  burning  behind  iron 
grilles,  had  a  deceptive  air  of  being  open.  Some 
where  a  New  Year  ball  was  going  on  with  music 
and  the  rhythmic  tread  of  many  feet,  but  on  the 


132    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

sidewalk  muffled  men  skulked  singly  along  the 
narrow,  beaten  trails. 

The  alderman's  reminiscences  now  grew  more 
modern,  and  he  had  a  new  one  for  every  block. 
Here  there  had  been  a  mighty  fire  in  the  fifties, 
and  Number  Nine  had  flooded  Number  Four; 
there  Forrest  had  played  the  Gladiator  as  it  would 
never  be  played  again;  but  driving  requiring 
closer  attention,  there  were  intervals  wherein  the 
others  might  create  memories  for  themselves. 

"O,  Bowery  Gals,  are  you  coming  out  to-night  ? 

Are  you  coming  out  to-night,  coming  out  to-night, 
Oh,  Bowery  Gals,  are  you  coming  out  to-night, 
To  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon  ?" 

chanted  Douw  Aukes,  keeping  time  with  his  feet 
in  the  straw,  but  his  guests  did  not  regard  him. 
The  yellow  sleigh  was  comfortable,  the  sides 
embraced  one  protectingly,  and  the  back  was 
high  enough  to  rest  the  head  against.  The  snow 
flakes  indicated  by  their  size  a  rise  in  temperature 
and  the  wind  had  ceased  to  howl.  It  was  no 
more  the  rollicking  storm  of  Trinity,  or  the  in 
vader  of  the  Stock  Exchange.  Those  were  old 
weathers  now,  blown  seaward,  old  memories;  or 
perhaps — the  cushions  of  the  yellow  sleigh  were 
soft — perhaps  snows  still  unfallen,  still  to  come 
to  earth  like  the  whirling  plow  and  the  flying 
train  seen  with  prophetic  vision  dimly  through 
the  winter  mists  of  Bowerie  Lane. 


In  Bowerie  Lane  133 

Alida,  snug  in  her  corner,  with  the  white  back 
of  Douw  Aukes  before  her  and  the  white  back  of 
the  large  horse,  knew  that  every  moment  brought 
her  nearer  to  Peter  Cooper  on  his  monument. 
Behind  him  was  the  Institute,  to  the  left  the 
German  playhouse  that  had  been  a  place  of  other 
worship;  further  on  the  Philadelphia  shop;  Grace 
Church,  and  home.  It  was  all  like  an  amusing 
though  ill-constructed  play,  with  the  last  act  well 
advanced  without  some  very  necessary  expla 
nations. 

"And  how  did  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  enjoy  her 
last  dance  at  the  Tavern?"  her  companion  asked 
her,  bending  a  little — just  a  very  little — closer. 
"I  thought  the  waltz  would  have  been  more 
enjoyable  had  Wolfert  Webber  been  less  stingy 
with  his  wax." 

"But  you  forget  that  waltzing  is  not  invented 
yet,"  returned  Alida,  laughing;  "we  do  not  even 
know  the  lancers." 

"Well,  then,  how  did  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  like 
the  olekooks?" 

Alida  shook  her  head  in  disapproval. 

"That  won't  do  either,"  she  objected.  "I  am 
sure  our  ancestors  did  not  speak  of  olekooks.  It 
would  be  like  asking  'how  did  you  like  the 
salad?'  Could  anything  be  more  greedy?  No; 
they  would  talk  about  the  people  who  were 
there." 


134    Tfo  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"But  you  see  I  did  not  know  the  people.  I 
am  a  new  arrival  from  the  frontier." 

"Then  you  should  begin  at  once  and  tell  me 
your  adventures." 

"That  would  be  taking  your  interest  for 
granted." 

"Oh,  if  we  are  to  pretend  the  party,  you  might 
pretend  that,  too." 

"And  may  I?" 

"Yes,  you  may  pretend  that  I  am  very  much 
interested.  You  may  pretend  you  are  my  cousin 
whom  I  have  not  seen  for  years,  and  that  I  don't 
know  anything  at  all  about  you  except  that  your 
grandfather  had  freckles  and  a  bad  temper." 

"Yes,  a  frightfully  bad  temper,"  he  agreed, 
and  went  on,  hurriedly,  for  he,  too,  felt  Peter 
Cooper  imminent — 

"  '  Are  you  coming  out  to-night,  coming  out  to-night, 
To  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon?  '  " — 

"but  my  grandfather  was  progressive  in  his  way, 
for  he  sent  his  only  daughter  back  East — to  New 
Amsterdam,  to  school." 

"To  Fulham  Priory?" 

"That  is  only  a  guess.  Well,  she  stayed  there 
for  several  years,  and  just  as  she  was  ready  to 
go  home — back  to  the  cattle  ranch — she  changed 
her  mind  and  ran  away  and  married  a  gentleman 
whose  name  is  still  a  mystery  to  the  only  person 
who  cares  one  way  or  the  other  what  it  was. 


In  Bowerie  Lane  135 

Afterward,  almost  immediately,  I  fancy,  they 
traveled  two  thousand  miles  in  search  of  forgive 
ness,  and  then,  I  fear,  met  with  an  inferior 
quality  of  that  article.  But  it  made  very  little 
difference  after  all,  for  within  the  year  the  hus 
band  was  killed  by  falling  from  his  broncho  at  a 
round-up,  and  the  daughter  died  leaving  a  little 
boy  of  no  age  at  all." 

Alida  made  no  comment  but  listened,  leaning 
forward  not  to  miss  a  word. 

"That's  all,"  he  said,  with  disappointing 
brevity. 

"It  can't  be  all;  you  have  not  told  me  why  the 
husband  kept  his  name  a  secret,  or  why  the  father 
did  not  like  him,  or  what  became  of  the  little 
boy." 

"He  did  not  keep  it  a  secret  at  all,  only  by  the 
time  the  boy  grew  old  enough  to  ask  questions 
the  grandfather  had  moved  to  another  ranch  in 
another  state.  He  was  a  cattle  man,  you  know, 
and  a  Boer  of  the  Boers,  and  always  ready  for  a 
trek  to  more  promising  grounds,  and  the  boy 
grew  up  among  people  who  neither  knew  nor 
cared  who  he  was.  The  old  man's  reasons  for 
disliking  his  son-in-law  were,  I  have  always 
believed,  those  of  a  gentleman  who  would  rather 
fight  than  eat,  and  he  was  very  angry  because 
some  Eastern  relatives  did  not  take  kindly  to  the 
match.  There  were  hasty  letters,  I  believe,  at 


136    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

first,  and  then  he  simply  dropped  the  whole  con 
nection.  To  his  grandson  he  would  only  say  that 
he  was  better  off  without  relations,  and  at  such 
times  his  language  was  most  forcible.  That  was 
the  cause  of  their  final  quarrel,  for  the  boy  did 
not  like  being  called  a  'maverick,'  which,  by  the 
way,  is  the  name  they  have  on  the  ranges  for  a 
steer  without  a  brand,  so  he  took  himself  off  to 
the  mountains." 

"To  Oro  City?"  Alida's  memory  was  excellent. 

"Yes,  there  and  to  other  places,  until  the  old 
man  died." 

"What  happened  then?" 

"Then  he — this  interesting  boy — found  him 
self  the  owner  of  more  cows  than  one  person 
could  possibly  have  use  for,  so  he  came  East  to 
sell  them,  and  incidentally  to  find  out  who  his 
father  was.  But  he  found  instead  a  make-believe 
cousin  who  was  good  enough  to  make  believe  she 
was  not  bored  to  death." 

"  'To  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon,' " 
sang  Douw  Aukes  for  the  twentieth  time,  a  trifle 
wearily.     Then  resuming  his  sidewise  position, 
he  said:  "Don't  let  me  interrupt,  but  ain't  there 
more  than  one  house  in  Kenilworth  Place?" 

They  had  come  to  Peter  Cooper  now,  and 
Aukes  had  memories  of  Peter,  to  which  the 
others  listened  with  attention;  conscious,  per 
haps,  of  past  neglect  in  the  matter  of  attention 


In  Bowerie  Lane  137 

and  perhaps  willing  to  allow  the  story  to  remain 
part  of  their  game  of  pretenses. 

At  Astor  Place  they  learned  the  northern 
boundary  of  the  Vauxhall  Gardens,  at  Clinton 
Hall,  reincarnate,  the  causes  of  the  Dead  Rabbit 
riots,  but  all  that  followed  Peter  Cooper  was  by 
way  of  anti-climax,  and  perhaps  the  old  man  real 
ized  it,  for  he  cut  his  narratives  shorter  and 
passed  in  silence  several  buildings  about  which 
he  knew  interesting  facts. 

"Mr.  Aukes, "  Alida  said,  when  Broadway 
brought  the  time  of  reckoning  near,  "I  am  sure 
you  have  done  a  great  many  kind  things  in  your 
life,  but  you  have  never  made  any  one  more 
grateful  than  I  am  for  being  brought  home 
to-night." 

"Pshaw,  that's  nothing;  when  I  was  a  boy  we 
had  a  society,  and  the  constitution  and  by-laws 
were  just  'Lend  a  Hand.'  When  a  fellow's  as 
old  as  me,  he's  found  out  there  ain't  nothing 
better  than  them  three  words  to  keep  the  back 
bone  limber." 

"Thanks,  Alderman,  we'll  paste  them  in  our 
hats,"  said  Anthony. 

"That's  where  most  folks  sticks  'em,"  laughed 
the  alderman,  "so  they  can  take  'em  off  and 
hang  'em  up  just  so  soon  as  they  get  indoors.  I 
used  to  be  a  great  hand  for  making  up  mottoes 
to  paint  on  canal  boats;  there's  one  I  know  of 


138    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

floating  round  the  Erie  Basin  yet,  it's  'Go  it 
while  you're  young — and  keep  young.'  How's 
that?" 

"I  am  going  to  paste  that  in  my  hat!"  cried 
Alida  laughing,  gayly,  forgetful  that  so  near  the 
Ruggles'  stoop  a  greater  measure  of  caution 
would  have  been  more  prudent. 

"They're  building  girls  on  the  same  old  model 
yet,"  said  Alderman  Aukes.  "Whoa,  Sport,  I 
guess  this  here  is  as  near  as  we  can  get.  Young 
lady,  me  and  Sport  present  our  compliments  and 
wish  you  both  a  Happy  New  Year!" 

As  they  stood  together  in  the  snow  once  more 
Alida  called,  "Good  night,  Mr.  Aukes,  a  Happy 
New  Year  and  a  thousand  thanks,"  and  the  old 
man  waved  his  whip  in  token  that  he  heard. 

They  saw  the  high  back  of  the  old  sleigh  flash 
yellow  for  a  moment  under  a  gas  lamp,  and 
presently  the  loud  old  bells  grew  faint  around  a 
corner.  Then  it  grew  still  in  Kenilworth  Place, 
so  still  that  one  might  almost  hear  the  snow 
flakes  falling,  gently  now,  magnifying  the  iron 
railings  into  balustrades  and  outlining  the 
branches  of  the  one  ailantus  tree  against  the 
silent  night.  Everywhere  the  surface  lay  smooth 
and  untrodden  except  where  the  yellow  sleigh 
had  passed,  and  where  a  track  led  from  Fifth 
Avenue  to  the  Ruggles'  steps  and  up  to  the  front 
door. 


In  Bowerie  Lane  139 

' '  I  thought  that  Bell  would  be  watching  for  me, ' ' 
said  Alida,  looking  up  despairingly  at  the  five 
tiers  of  lightless  windows,  and  forgetting  in  her 
disappointment  to  remember  that  she  had  no 
key.  It  was  unusual  for  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  to 
come  home  after  nightfall  without  conventional 
protection,  and  she  had  never  been  so  late  that 
Cousin  Caroline  had  not  happened  to  be  awake. 
For  a  moment  she  experienced  the  chilling  sen 
sation  of  being  shut  out.  For  a  moment,  until 
her  companion  remarked  with  cheerful  satisfac 
tion:  "You  are  evidently  the  first  of  your  party 
to  get  back  after  all.  There  is  only  one  track  on 
the  steps  and  that  was  made  by  a  man." 

"Oh,  are  you  sure?"  she  asked,  in  great  relief. 

"Yes,  he  was  a  young  man  and  in  a  hurry,  for 
he  ran  up  two  steps  at  a  time,  and  the  trail  can 
not  be  five  minutes  old." 

"It  must  have  been  Mr.  Volkert. " 

How  true  were  these  deductions  presently 
appeared,  for  even  as  they  spoke  the  front  door 
flew  wide  open  and  Edward  Volkert  dashed  vio 
lently  out. 

"Thank  God!"  he  cried,  with  histrionic  fervor 
at  catching  sight  of  her;  "I  have  been  well  nigh 
mad!" 

"Please  don't  shout  so,  you  will  rouse  the 
neighborhood,"  she  said,  ungratefully.  "What 
is  the  matter?" 


140    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Matter!     I  thought  you  lost  forever." 

"It  was  hardly  your  fault  that  I  am  not,"  she 
answered,  coldly. 

"Don't  blame  me  for  that  till  I  explain,"  he 
went  on,  breathlessly."!  could  not  get  away  at 
first,  and  then  the  cops  got  hold  of  us  and  took 
us  to  the  Church  Street  station,  where  they  let 
us  go  again.  I  ran  right  to  the  elevated  and  saw 
Van  Gaasbeck  and  Miss  Ruggles  getting  on  a 
train,  and  I  thought  I  saw  you  with  them  until 
at  Eighth  Street  they  got  out  alone.  Then  I 
dodged  them  and  came  here  to  see  if  you  were 
home  by  any  chance.  I  went  to  your  room  and 
tapped  on  the  door,  but  you  were  not  there,  so  I 
was  going  back  to  Trinity — " 

"Where  is  Bell  now?"  Alida  interrupted, 
shortly. 

"Somewhere  between  here  and  Eighth  Street 
station.  We  were  stalled  three  times  coming  up. 
They'll  be  along  directly." 

"Edward  Volkert, "  said  Alida,  frigidly,  "do 
you  want  me  ever  to  speak  to  you  again?" 

"I  know  I  don't  deserve  it,"  he  admitted,  with 
deep  contrition. 

"No,  you  don't,  but  I  shall  overlook  this  even 
ing,  and  for  the  present  I  shall  not  say  a  word  to 
Bell  of  what  has  happened ;  she  has  enough  to 
worry  her  just  now." 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Volkert  was  duly  grate- 


In  Bowerie  Lane  141 

ful.  Under  the  circumstances  he  could  do  noth 
ing  less  than  stand  apart  discreetly. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  am  doing  right?"  Alida 
asked  of  the  other  man  who  waited.  "I  only 
want  to  have  a  chance  to  think  things  over." 

"You  are  right  to  drop  one  factor  altogether," 
he  replied;  "to-morrow  St.  Nicholas  and  his 
sleigh  will  be  a  dream.  To-morrow  the  Snow 
Queen  will  have  melted." 

"Suppose  she  does  not  want  to  melt,"  whis 
pered  Alida,  impulsively.  Here  on  the  Ruggles' 
stoop,  with  Edward  Volkert  standing  guard,  she 
felt  a  desperate  wish  to  hold  the  dream  a  little 
longer. 

"Won't  you  let  me  help  you?"  she  added, 
recklessly.  "Won't  you  let  me  'lend  a  hand'?" 

"Only  to  say  good  night,"  he  answered,  laugh 
ing.  For  a  moment  her  small,  damp  glove  lay 
snugly  in  his  large,  furry  one.  Then  he  had  lifted 
his  hat  and  was  plunging  through  the  snow 
toward  Broadway. 

"Say,  who  is  your  friend?"  inquired  Edward 
Volkert. 

"Open  the  door,"  commanded  Alida,  none 
too  graciously,  "and  do  not  speak  to  me  again 
to-night." 


CHAPTER  IX 

STERILIZED  MILK 

Miss  Caroline  De  Wint,  upon  the  first  day  of 
the  year,  in  preparing  the  Annual  Report  of  the 
Sterilized  Milk  and  Linen  Lending  Guild,  found 
herself  confronted  by  a  problem;  should  the 
division  of  succor  by  recipients  result  in  quarts 
or  babies? 

"I  should  think,"  suggested  her  god-daughter, 
who  was  assisting,  "that  the  milk  ought  to  go 
into  the  babies." 

"No,"  argued  Cousin  Caroline,  thoughtfully; 
"you  are  wrong,  because  you  see — oh,  here  it  is 
on  another  piece  of  paper.  Miss  Toll  has  figured 
it  all  out  exactly:  'Average  daily  distribution, 
fifty-six  quarts  and  one  pint.  Average  of  indi 
viduals  relieved,  fifty-six  and  one-half!'  ' 

"I  suppose  the  pint  was  for  the  half  indi 
vidual,"  observed  Alida,  whose  mind  was  not 
upon  statistics. 

They  were  seated  on  either  side  of  a  marble- 
topped  table,  before  the  soft  coal  fire  in  Cousin 
Caroline's  room.  And  Cousin  Caroline's  bed, 
obligingly  upon  its  hind  legs  so  to  speak,  having 
assumed  the  semblance  of  a  preposterous  cabi- 
142 


Sterilized  Milk  143 

net,  the  room  had  taken  on  the  character  of  a 
parlor. 

"I  never  had  the  slightest  faculty  for  figures," 
remarked  the  treasurer  of  many  guilds,  closing 
her  portfolio  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "When 
my  accounts  are  short  I  always  make  them  bal 
ance  with  an  anonymous  contribution,  but  when 
they  come  out  the  other  way  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  Give  me  the  minute  book,  Alida, 
please." 

Alida  rose  and  fetched  the  thin,  black  volume. 

"How  did  you  ever  get  along  at  school?"  she 
asked,  without  resuming  her  seat. 

"Oh,  well  enough;  we  used  to  sing  the  multipli 
cation  table  to  Anglican  chants,  and  there  was 
always  some  girl  in  the  class  who  liked  doing 
sums  and  let  the  others  copy.  They  did  not 
then  expect  young  ladies  to  be  book-keepers." 

"That  was  at  Fulham  Priory,  was  it  not?" 

"Yes,  I  never  went  to  any  other  school.  Your 
mother  used  to  boast  that  at  Miss  Van  Hoeven- 
burg's  the  girls  knew  fractions,  but  I  must  say  I 
have  never  perceived  any  evidence  of  it  since. 
Just  look  for  the  meeting  of  December  loth  and 
see  if  the  Linen  Committee  made  a  report." 

Alida  found  the  place  and  looked.  "There  is 
nothing  here  like  a  report,"  she  said. 

"Well,  there  should  be.  I  must  have  forgot 
ten  to  write  it  down,  but  never  mind,  I'll  ask 


144    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Miss  Toll.  We  can't  do  anything  more  just 
now." 

Alida,  resting  the  book  upon  the  table,  turned 
the  leaves  slowly,  as  though  she  sought  for  some 
thing  between  them,  while  her  godmother  debated 
in  silence  how  best  the  next  half  hour  might  be 
employed. 

"I  suppose  you  were  not  at  all  interested  in 
what  happened  at  Fulham  after  you  graduated?" 
Alida  speculated,  idly.  "I  suppose  you  never 
went  back  there  again?" 

"Yes,  I  spent  a  summer  there,  the  summer  fol 
lowing  my  father's  death.  I  loved  the  old  place 
and  the  old  ladies,  and  they  were  glad  to  have 
me." 

"Of  course  the  pupils  were  all  at  their  homes 
in  summer." 

"No,  not  all;  there  were  always  one  or  two 
who  lived  too  far  away  to  go  home." 

"From  the  South,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes." 

"And  from  the  West?" 

"I  really  can't  remember  where  they  were 
from.  What  difference  does  it  make?" 

"I  was  only  going  to  ask  you,"  said  Alida, 
boldly,  "if  by  any  chance  there  was  a  girl  there 
called  Bogardus. " 

She  was  conscious  that  her  attempt  to  lead  up 
naturally  to  the  question  had  been  clumsy,  and 


Sterilized  Milk  145 

was  prepared  to  have  her  reasons  for  it  asked, 
but  she  was  not  prepared  to  have  her  godmother 
turn  sharply  upon  her. 

"I  should  think,  Alida,  that  you  would  know 
better  than  to  mention  that  name  to  me,"  said 
Miss  De  Wint. 

"But  really,  Cousin  Caroline,"  Alida  protested, 
with  contrition,  "I  had  no  idea — " 

"In  future,"  returned  the  other,  shortly,  "you 
had  better  have  an  idea  before  you  ask  stupid 
questions." 

Alida  closed  the  minute  book,  and  going  to 
the  window,  stood  looking  out.  At  the  cost  of 
giving  her  godmother  offense  she  had  obtained  a 
scrap  of  information,  and  she  had  also  learned 
that  whatever  there  might  be  to  know  even  she 
was  supposed  to  know  it.  But  the  obvious  dis 
like  of  Cousin  Caroline  for  the  former  pupil  could 
hardly  be  due  entirely  to  the  loss  of  a  geog 
raphy.  For  a  wild  moment  she  thought  it  might 
be  her  duty  to  make  the  knowledge  known  to  one 
whom  it  concerned,  but  it  was  a  very  wild  moment 
and  quickly  past. 

"I  think  I  shall  go  out  a  little  way,"  she  said; 
"the  weather  is  superb." 

"I  should,  by  all  means,  if  I  were  you,"  re 
turned  her  sponsor,  tartly.  "Of  course  it  is  New 
Year's  Day,  and  the  streets  will  be  filled  with 
disreputable  characters  as  well  as  being  blocked 


146    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

with  snow,  but  those  are  small  matters  to  a 
modern  young  lady.  It  is  a  pity  you  have  not  a 
club,  Alida,  you  might — "  Cousin  Caroline 
hesitated  for  a  fitting  climax — "you  might  play 
billiards." 

"Oh,  New  Year's  is  just  like  any  other  day 
now,"  replied  Alida,  turning  from  the  window, 
"only  there  are  fewer  people  in  the  street.  I 
shall  walk  up  Fifth  Avenue  on  the  quiet  side,  and 
perhaps  drop  in  to  tea  with  Bessie  Brisbane." 

"The  next  thing,  I  suppose, you  will  be  having 
a  cowboy  bring  you  home,"  rejoined  Miss  De 
Wint,  with  spirit.  Which  shot,  though  fired  at 
random,  struck  near  enough  to  cause  the  target 
some  disquiet. 

Half  an  hour  later  Alida,  descending,  per 
ceived  Edward  Volkert  in  the  lower  hall.  His 
day  had  been  spent  in  mastering  the  contents  of 
the  newspapers,  more  especially  those  advertise 
ments  promising  largest  returns  for  the  smallest 
investments,  which  would  seem  a  harmless  pas 
time  for  one  possessed  of  less  than  one  dollar  in 
available  assets. 

At  sight  of  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  he  ran  up 
several  steps  toward  her  and  stood  barring  the 
way  with  extended  arms. 

"Toll!"  he  announced,  "one  'yes'  or  'no,'  ' 
which  was  a  game  they   had  played  before  and 
involved  a  monosyllable  in  answer  to  any  ques- 


Sterilized  Milk  147 

tion  the  toll-keeper  might  propound,  under  a 
heavy  penalty  for  refusal. 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  speak  to  you,"  she 
protested.  "I  have  not  forgiven  you  yet." 

Edward  Volkert  laughed  a  scornful  laugh. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
myself,"  he  said,  "but  you  were  very  much 
obliged  to  me  last  night,  all  the  same." 

"Let  me  pass  immediately!" 

"Toll!" 

"Well,  what  is  the  question?" 

"Was  that  Bradish  Osterhout  who  brought  you 
home?" 

"No!" 

The  answer  was  emphatic,  more  so  than  she 
had  intended  it  to  be,  and  Volkert  starting  back, 
exclaimed:  "Whew!  Baby's  got  a  tooth!"  and 
in  revenge  he  sang,  as  he  went  up  the  long  stairs, 
a  little  rondel  of  his  own  composing,  reserved  for 
purposes  of  annoyance: — 

"Oh,  if  sweet  Alida 
Would  let  me  sit  beside  her! 
Oh,  if  she  would  hide  her 
Little  hand  in  mine." 

Which  was  undeniably  rude  in  Mr.  Volkert,  and 
brought  forth  from  an  opened  door  the  merited 
rebuke:  "Edward,  be  silent!" 

Mrs.  Valentine  Van  Wandeleer  sat  in  her  favor 
ite  chair  before  the  parlor  fire,  the  Times — folded 


148    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

into  a  hand  screen — neglected  on  her  lap.  Her 
dainty  cap  was  of  lace  in  honor  of  the  day,  and 
old  lace  at  her  throat  and  wrists  replaced  the 
customary  linen  bands.  She  was  a  woman  who 
had  learned  the  art  of  looking  younger  than 
she  was  by  dressing  older  than  she  need,  and 
to-day  she  had  put  on  her  finery  with  special 
thought,  for  it  was  with  her  the  festival  of  All 
Souls. 

Decanters  stood  upon  the  piano  and  beside 
them  in  a  lordly  dish  some  long  cakes  molded 
into  patterns  and  savory  with  caraway  seed.  But 
though  some  of  these  had  been  broken  and 
several  of  the  glasses  used,  it  was  from  the 
embers  that  most  of  Josephine's  callers  had 
made  their  bows.  To  her  these  visitors  had" 
been  the  real  ones  and  the  ghosts  were  they  who 
had  sipped  sparingly  of  the  waning  sherry  of 
Chancellor  De  Vos. 

Near  the  decanters  and  the  heavy  silver  dish 
there  rested  an  exceptionally  large  bouquet  of 
orchids,  most  legibly  inscribed  to  Mrs.  Van  Wan- 
deleer  herself;  for  K.  O.  K.  began  the  year  with 
aspirations  to  a  widening  market. 

"Mother,"  observed  Alida,  taking  a  seat  upon 
the  piano  stool  and  addressing  herself  to  the  ulti 
mate  bow  of  lace  upon  her  mother's  cap.  "I 
don't  suppose  any  one  else  will  be  here,  do 
you?" 


Sterilized  Milk  149 

"No,  no  one  else,"  sighed  Mrs.  Van  Wande- 
leer,  softly.  "There  is  no  one  else  to  come. 
We  had  two  less  than  last  year,  did  we  not?" 

"Yes,  two.  Judge  Gansyourdt  and  old  Mr. 
Van  der  Mark.  Last  year  he  brought  a  box  of 
candy,  you  remember." 

"Yes,  I  remember.  He  had  done  so  for  twenty 
years.  He  was  a  faithful  friend,  though  one  of 
the  stupidest  men  I  ever  knew.  Your  father 
could  not  bear  him." 

Alida  broke  off  a  large  crumb  of  New  Year's 
cake  and  ate  it  in  respectful  silence  in  memory 
of  the  dead.  Presently,  recalling  the  pleasures 
of  the  morning,  she  asked:  "Did  you  notice  that 
Doctor  Roorda  had  on  a  new  cravat?  He  was 
really  quite  presentable.  And  Colonel  Vander- 
lyn  wore  a  pink  carnation,  but  when  he  put  on 
his  overcoat  he  mistook  it  for  a  button  and  ruined 
it  completely.  I  tried  to  make  him  accept  an 
orchid  in  its  place." 

Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer  took  up  the  Times  and 
rearranged  its  folds. 

"Alida,"  she  said,  with  greater  force  than  it 
was  her  habit  to  put  in  words,  "what  do  those 
orchids  mean?" 

"I  really  do  not  know;  no  one  uses  the  lan 
guage  of  flowers  any  more." 

"You  understand  me  very  well,  Alida;  what 
does  Mr.  Osterhout  mean?" 


150    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Miss  Van  Wandeleer  moved  uneasily  upon  her 
moving  seat. 

"I  think  /  might  ask  you  that  question, 
mother,"  she  replied,  with  an  attempt  at  levity; 
"they  were  not  sent  to  me,  you  know." 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Chancellor  De  Vos 
looked  sternly  at  the  mantelpiece,  and  the  Lady 
with  a  Rose — attributed  to  Sully — simpered  back. 

"Is  his  mother  quite  impossible?"  asked  Mrs. 
Van  Wandeleer  at  length. 

"I  have  only  seen  her  once.  She  is  fat  and 
furry,  and  says  'My  dear'  to  every  one.  I  am 
sure  you  would  hate  her." 

Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer  sought  counsel  in  the  fire. 

"Sometimes  we  are  given  strength,"  she  mur 
mured,  piously. 

"I  had  some  idea  of  taking  a  little  walk,"  ven 
tured  Alida,  after  an  interval,  and  her  mother, 
not  being  aware  that  the  idea  had  become  suffi 
ciently  well  defined  to  prompt  a  tailor-made  cos 
tume,  and  Bazet's  latest  event  in  hats,  replied: 
"I  thought  you  were  to  help  your  godmother." 

"We  can't  do  anything  more  until  Miss  Toll 
comes  back,  she  has  the  minutes  in  her  head — 
besides  Cousin  Caroline  and  I  have  had  a  slight 
misunderstanding. ' ' 

"A  misunderstanding?     What  about?" 

"I  scarcely  know.  I  asked  her  if  she  had  ever 
met  a  lady  named  Bogardus. " 


Sterilized  Milk  151 

"Oh,  Alida,  how  could  you  have  been  so  in 
considerate?" 

"But  I  did  not  know  I  was  inconsiderate. 
Please  tell  me  why  she  did  not  like  to  be  asked.  " 

Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer  held  up  the  Times  before 
the  fire. 

"I  do  not  think  we  should  speak  of  Caroline's 
affairs  behind  her  back,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

"But,  mother,  how  am  I  ever  to  know?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  know,  child,  nothing  that 
concerns  you  in  the  least,  nothing  that  was  not 
over  and  done  with  before  you  were  born." 

"But,  mother,  I  must  know,"  exclaimed  Alida, 
rising  and  crossing  to  confront  her  mother. 
Standing  beside  the  high,  black  mantelpiece,  with 
the  firelight  full  upon  her,  she  looked  down  at  the 
smaller  woman  in  the  arm-chair,  a  figure  of  deter 
mination. 

"Mother,  I  must  know,"  she  said  again. 

"Then  ask  your  Cousin  Caroline,  and  she  will 
tell  you  what  she  thinks  best.  I  won't  discuss 
it.  Run  along  now,  dear,  and  take  your  walk. 
I  have  a  headache." 

Providence,  who  has  given  the  porcupine  its 
quills,  the  feeble  snail  its  shell,  had  given 
Josephine  her  headaches. 

"I'm  sorry,  mother,"  said  Alida,  softly. 
"Can  I  do  anything?" 

"No,    child,  I  only  want  to  sit  and  close  my 


152    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

eyes — Felice  makes  very  pretty  hats — you  are 
more  like  your  poor  father  every  day — I  wish  it 
had  been  anything  but  underwear." 

Alida,  pausing  in  the  hall  to  contemplate  her 
hat  with  saddened  satisfaction,  wondered  if  any 
body  in  the  world  was  blessed  with  such  unreason 
able  relatives  as  herself.  They  blamed  her  for 
not  knowing  things  they  would  not  tell  her,  and 
they  refused  to  answer  questions  on  the  ground 
that  she  could  have  no  concern  in  events  anterior 
to  her  birth.  How,  under  such  circumstances, 
was  it  possible  to  lend  a  hand! 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  BLACK  SLEIGH 

Miss  Van  Wandeleer's  reflections,  as  she 
climbed  the  sunny  slope  of  Murray  Hill,  were  of 
the  nature  to  give  brightness  to  her  eyes  and 
firmness  to  her  step.  The  avenue  was  aglow 
with  light  and  life  and  color,  and  the  sparkling 
air  vibrated  with  the  sound  of  sleigh  bells. 
Vehicles  of  every  cast  adaptable  to  runners 
passed  in  two  lines  between  high  banks  of 
snow,  and  for  once  the  aimless  holiday  wan 
derers  along  the  sidewalks  had  something  to 
amuse  them. 

Alida  had  abandoned  the  idea  of  lunching  with 
the  Brisbanes,  and  resolved  to  make  the  Brick 
Church  the  limit  of  her  walk.  But  at  the  Thirty- 
fifth  Street  corner  a  sleigh  more  gorgeous  than 
the  rest  stood  drawn  up  against  the  curb. 

It  was  a  high,  black  sleigh,  with  high,  black 
horses  and  pyramids  of  bells  and  streaming  stan 
dards  of  red  horse  hair.  Two  menials  in  bear-skin 
capes  sat  motionless  upon  the  box,  and  behind 
them  Bessie  Brisbane  reclined  alone  in  regal 
splendor. 

A  pretty  girl  was  Bessie,  with  fine  black  hair 


154    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

and  large,  blue,  Irish  eyes,  a  Kerry  maid  in  sables, 
and  they  became  her  hugely. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  Alida,  coming  up.  "You 
look  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba  in  all  her  glory." 

"Do  I?"  replied  Bessie,  showing  pretty  teeth; 
"well,  I  feel  much  more  like  Burnheimer's  three- 
dollar  pants.  This  band  wagon  is  B.  J.'slast 
addition  to  the  plant.  Is  it  not  fierce?" 

Alida,. with  her  head  upon  one  side,  affected  to 
examine  the  equipage  critically. 

"I  think  it  beautiful,"  she  said.  "Quite  the 
prettiest  sleigh  I  ever  saw.  Is  it  new?" 

"Yes,  new  and  smelling  of  varnish  like  every 
thing  we  have.  Get  in,  you  are  an  answer  to 
prayer.  I  have  been  waiting  here  for  any  one  I 
knew.  B.  J.  bought  this  yesterday,  and  as  usual 
he  is  trying  it  on  the  dog.  Get  in  and  help  me 
be  stared  at." 

Alida  hesitated,  but  one  of  the  attendant 
grenadiers,  now  on  the  sidewalk,  held  back  a 
corner  of  the  robe  with  automatic  reverence. 
She  was  a  little  tired  from  the  walk,  and  Bessie 
looked  provokingly  comfortable.  Besides  there 
was  really  no  valid  reason  why  she  should  not 
get  in. 

"Drive  up  the  avenue,"  commanded  Miss  Bris 
bane,  urbanely;  "unless  you  have  a  more  original 
suggestion,"  she  added,  to  her  guest. 

Alida  shook  her  head,  contentedly.      "Is  not 


The  Black  Sleigh  155 

the  footman  new,  too?"  she  asked,  surveying  an 
unfamiliar  back. 

"Yes,  and  we  have  to  call  him  Henry.  The 
coachman  is  Moneypenny,  which  is  bad  enough, 
but  this  one's  name  is  Love;  we  never  have  any 
luck  in  servants'  names.  Alida,  what  a  stunning 
hat!  I  rather  think  you  and  I  could  pass  most 
anything  on  the  pike  to-day." 

"I  am  afraid  we  are  a  little  bit  conspicuous," 
rejoined  the  other,  doubtfully. 

"Yes,  we're  right  in  the  limelight.  Do  you 
mind?" 

"No,  but  don't  you  think  we  might  go  into  the 
Park?" 

"Yes,  when  we  get  there.  We  shall  have  just 
time  for  the  obelisk  and  back.  You  are  coming 
home  with  me  to  tea,  you  know." 

"Oh,  no,  I  am  not." 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed  you  are.  B.  J.  has  a  holiday 
to-day,  and  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it,  and 
there  will  be  some  other  men,  with  nobody  but 
mama  and  me  to  make  things  go,  and  I'm  no 
good  on  earth  with  father." 

"I  never  knew  a  girl  less  afraid  of  her 
father." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid,  but  he  sees  through  my 
humble  efforts,  and  to-day  I  hope  to  be  especially 
impressive. " 

"Who  is  to  be  there?" 


1^6    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"To  begin  with,  Leigh- Watkins.  Do  you 
know  him?" 

"No,  I  have  never  met  him — you  mean  the 
clergyman,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  he  is  mother's  last  venture  in  futures. 
The  vicar  of  St.  Jude  the  Obscure,  and  between 
ourselves,  just  a  shade  more  Leigh  than  Watkins. 
Note  that  he  needs  snubbing,  and  needs  it  badly; 
but  he  is  merely  a  prelude." 

"A  prelude  to  what?" 

"To  a  party  with  a  title,"  said  Bessie,  slowly 
and  impressively. 

"Your  little  diplomat,  I  suppose — 'Vich  is  the 
reech  von?' — You  remember  his  delicate  question 
when  some  one  brought  him  up  to  both  of  us  to 
gether?" 

"Was  he  not  a  little  beast!"  assented  Bessie, 
willingly.  "Since  then  I  have  made  him  bite  the 
dust  for  that  on  more  than  one  occasion.  How 
ever,  this  is  not  to  be  the  diplomat  to-day,  but  a 
lord — a  real,  live  lord — with  a  coronet  on  his 
trade-mark,  and  a  motto  in  bad  Latin.  You 
know  'Erbert  'Owlet,  of  course?" 

"Yes,  I  have  met  Mr.  Herbert  Howlet.  He 
danced  with  you  at — " 

"He  called  it  dancing,"  corrected  Bessie, 
sadly;  "well,  an  uncle  of  his,  Lord  Wensdale 
by  name,  who  has  a  way  of  doing  unexpected 
things,  arrived  here  yesterday  on  the  Oceanic 


The  Black  Sleigh  157 

without  taking  the  trouble  to  inform  his  nephew 
that  he  even  thought  of  coming.  We  had  already 
invited  'Erbert  to  drop  in  to  tea  to-day,  and  last 
night  he  called  to  ask  permission  to  bring  Uncle 
Wen  along.  You  see  it  is  all  quite  accidental 
and  unpremeditated,  and  not  in  the  least  a  visit 
of  inspection.  There  is  somebody  trying  to  bow 
to  you." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Norris.  What  do  you  mean  by 
inspection?" 

"I  mean  I  am  not  to  be  looked  over  to  see  if  I 
will  do." 

"I  should  hope  not,"  indignantly. 

The  sleigh,  taking  its  place  in  the  long  line  of 
vehicles,  trucks,  stages,  hansom  cabs,  and  other 
sleighs,  moved  slowly,  but  they  had  gone  a  block 
before  Bessie  spoke  again. 

"Don't  you  think  it's  fun  to  watch  the  people?" 
she  said,  as  if  in  explanation  of  her  silence,  and 
added,  as  a  second  thought,  "I  want  your  candid 
opinion  of  Mr.  Howlet  after  lunch." 

"Then  there  is  to  be  an  inspection?" 

"Yes,  in  a  way,  but  I  have  no  idea  that  he  will 
do." 

"Do,  for  what?" 

"Ballast.  That  is  what  the  Brisbanes  stand 
in  need  of  just  at  present.  We  are,  as  you  may 
have  noticed,  slightly  top-heavy,  like  this  sleigh, 
and  some  day,  if  we  are  not  careful,  we  shall  have 


158    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

an  upset.  We  go  on  piling  things  too  high.  We 
put  fur  collars  on  our  fellow  creatures  and  call 
them  our  servants,  but  we  know  better  and  they 
know  better  and  the  horses  know  better.  Some 
day  I  shall  meet  the  eye  of  Mr.  Moneypenny  and 
laugh,  or  B.  J.  will  offer  the  butler  a  cigar  as  he 
often  threatens  to  do,  and  if  it  ever  comes  the 
slump  will  be  complete." 

"But  Mr.  Howlet?" 

"Oh,  he  is  just  a  possibility,  like  the  statues 
B.  J.  has  sent  home  to  see  how  they  will  look  in 
corners,"  said  Miss  Brisbane.  A  passing  sleigh 
had  tossed  some  snow  into  her  lap,  and  as  she 
spoke  she  made  a  little  ball  of  it  and  looked 
about  for  a  mark  at  which  to  throw.  "But  he  is 
delightfully  heavy,"  she  went  on;  "he  has  not 
the  slightest  sense  of  humor;  I  don't  believe  he 
even  sits  down  to  laugh  at  himself  when  alone." 

"That  at  least  is  something  in  his  favor," 
Alida  admitted,  rather  reluctantly,  for  she  had 
never  found  Mr.  Howlet's  heaviness  attractive. 

Miss  Brisbane  dropped  the  snowball  to  the 
roadway  and  looked  with  affectation  of  distress 
upon  her  moistened  glove.  Evidently  something 
had  occurred  to  disturb  Bessie's  equanimity  or 
she  would  never  have  wasted  a  snowball. 

"Would  you  really,  seriously  think  of  marrying 
an  Englishman?"  asked  Alida,  with  a  look  of 
searching  inquiry  toward  her  friend. 


The  Black  Sleigh  159 

"Don't  put  it  quite  so  baldly,"  answered 
Bessie.  "I  might  marry  an  ancestral  seat,  or  a 
position  in  the  county,  if  he  did  not  stutter." 

"I  never  heard  you  hint  at  anything  like  that 
before." 

"Oh,  no,  it's  quite  a  new  idea;  it  came  to  me 
in  the  picture  store."  Miss  Brisbane  flushed  as 
she  said  this  and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  back  of 
Moneypenny.  "I  was  looking  at  my  own  por 
trait  in  the  Caporal  exhibition,  and  somebody 
behind  who  did  not  know  me,  said:  'And  who  is 
this  intended  for?'  'Miss  Brisbane,'  answered 
the  attendant.  'What  Brisbane?  Who  are  they?' 
I  will  give  you  twenty  guesses  at  the  answer." 

"The  Brisbanes  of  Park  Avenue?"  guessed 
Alida. 

"No,  nothing  of  the  sort.  'Plain  people  from 
Peoria' !  We  have  been  running  the  show  two 
years,  regardless  of  expense,  and  that  is  where  we 
stand  in  the  estimation  of  a  picture  store  man!" 

"But  that  is  absurd — " 

"Perfectly  absurd  and  perfectly  true.  They 
call  us  plutocrats  if  we  have  more  than  twenty 
people  at  dinner,  and  when  things  go  wrong  in 
Wall  Street  we  are  held  responsible.  But  be 
tween  times  we  are  P.  P.  P's. " 

"I'm  sure  I  should  not  mind  what  I  was 
called,"  announced  Alida,  stoutly. 

"But  I  am  not  like  you,  I   have  no  traditions 


160    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

to  fall  back  on;  I'm  not  a  Knickerbocker.  It  is 
better  to  have  ancestors  who  gave  dinners  and 
had  servants  and  carriages." 

"Bessie,  you  are  talking  nonsense,"  Alida 
interposed.  "My  ancestors  did  not  have  car 
riages,  they  had  high-backed,  yellow  sleighs,  and 
danced  at  Wolfert  Webber's  Tavern,  and  came 
home  by  moonlight  across  the  'Kissing  Bridge. '  ' 
She  checked  herself,  blushing  under  cover  of  the 
frosty  air,  and  finished.  "We  were  plain  people 
enough  in  those  days,  I  am  sure.  Your  tradition 
theory  is  absurd." 

"Oh,  no,  it's  not,"  persisted  Bessie,  leaning 
back  comfortably  among  the  furs.  "At  least  it 
gives  you  that  sense  of  having  been  here  first 
that  puts  newcomers  at  a  disadvantage.  Then, 
too,  you  are  born  knowing  things  we  have  to 
learn.  The  other  day  my  small  brother  disgraced 
us  by  assuming  the  Hanging  Gardens  to  be 
places  of  luxurious  execution  for  the  kings  of 
Babylon,  which  shows  the  effect  of  lynching  as  a 
prenatal  influence.  Your  little  brother  would 
never  have  said  such  a  thing." 

"I  am  afraid  he  would  have  been  too  stupid," 
Alida  answered,  laughing. 

"Not  at  all;  if  he  had  been  born  on  the  prairies 
he  would  have  taken  to  civilization  like  a  duck 
to  water.  He  would  have  even  invented  it  for 
himself." 


The  Black  Sleigh  161 

"Do  you  think  so,  really?"  cried  Alida,  becom 
ing  suddenly  interested.  "Do  you  think  a  per 
son  can  live  all  his  life  in  all  sorts  of  out  of  the 
way  places  and  yet  be  kind  and  noble  and  con 
siderate?" 

"I  don't  think  those  are  qualities  of  civiliza 
tion,"  answered  Bessie,  turning  up  her  nose. 
"I  mean  such  things  as  knowing  whether  a  pic 
ture  can  be  worth  ten  thousand  just  because  it 
does  not  look  like  you." 

They  had  crossed  the 'Plaza,  and  leaving  the 
slower  pageant  of  the  avenue,  had  become  a 
link  in  the  flashing,  many-colored  chain  that 
wound  up  hill  and  down  and  in  and  out  between 
the  elm  trees.  Borne  on  a  keen  west  wind  the 
light  snow  rose,  hung  sparkling  in  the  sun,  and 
fell  in  playful  sifting  showers.  Bells,  bells  were 
everywhere.  The  pulses  beat  with  them,  the 
thought  danced  to  the  music  of  them. 

"Oh,  Bessie!"  cried  Alida,  "aren't  you  glad 
you  are  alive!" 

"Yes,  rather,"  said  Miss  Brisbane,  without 
enthusiasm;  "but  tell  me  something  of  that 
bridge  you  mentioned." 

"Did  you  drive  down  to  hear  the  chimes  last 
night?  You  said  that  you  were  going." 

"Yes,  but  we  did  not  hear  a  chime.  Everybody 
was  cold  and  cross,  and  we  had  a  frightful  time  get 
ting  home.  I  envied  the  people  on  the  sidewalk. ' ' 


162    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Then  you  were  envying  me  without  knowing 
it." 

"I  might  have  known  you  would  be  there," 
said  Bessie,  laughing,  "just  to  see  that  things 
were  started  properly  in  New  Amsterdam.  I 
suppose  you  Dutch  have  mystic  rites  among 
yourselves  that  we  outsiders  know  nothing 
of." 

Across  the  Meadow  and  the  Mall  snow  lay  in 
unbroken  drifts.  The  sky-line  of  tall  buildings 
to  the  west  was  like  a  mirage  city  in  a  desert 
filled  with  strange,  flying  caravans.  From  every 
where  these  came  with  flashing  red  and  gold,  and 
the  panting  of  horses  and  the  mad  merriment  of 
bells.  The  footways  were  alive  with  people; 
men  and  girls,  wrapped  warm  and  booted  heavily, 
spurred  on  by  tingling  blood  to  cover  distances, 
ambitious  only  that  something  should  be  left 
behind  and  something  reached  that  lay  before; 
small  brownies  in  hoods  and  leather  gaiters, 
leaping  and  rolling  in  the  snow  like  mastiff  pup 
pies;  old  men  in  fur,  who  took  snow  from  the 
boughs  of  evergreens  and  tasted  it,  closing  old 
eyes  a  moment  to  remember. 

Miss  Brisbane  was  unusually  silent.  When  the 
subject  of  the  chimes  was  dropped  she  did  not 
suggest  another,  and  Alida,  while  awaiting  devel 
opments,  contented  herself  with  an  occasional 
glance  toward  her  friend. 


The  Black  Sleigh  163 

There  was  a  hardening  of  the  lines  around 
Bessie's  pretty  mouth  that  she  had  never  seen 
there  before,  that  she  had  never  looked  for  there 
before,  and  it  dawned  upon  her  dimly  that  the 
friendship  both  had  fancied  firmly  founded  was 
after  all  a  chance  acquaintance  of  the  road;  that 
for  every  step  of  hers  Bessie  had  journeyed  seven 
leagues,  and  that  their  destinies  lay  far  apart. 
Alida  was  in  her  orbit.  As  she  was  now  another 
year  would  find  her,  morning  or  evening  star  in 
the  appointed  time,  while  Bessie  moved  on  to 
some  distant  perihelion. 

"Bessie,"  she  said,  a  little  anxiously,  "don't 
you  think  you  would  miss  all  this  dreadfully  if 
you  were  to  go  away  from  it?" 

Miss  Brisbane  laughed  and  cast  a  comprehen 
sive  glance  about  at  the  throng  of  serious  people 
suddenly  transformed  to  merrymakers;  at  the 
obelisk  in  the  Sahara  of  a  night;  at  the  white 
city  with  its  thousand  wings  of  steam  ready  to 
fly  again;  at  the  sleigh  that  had  been  sent  home 
yesterday. 

"Of  course  I  should  be  sorry,"  she  replied; 
"but  then  I  was  sorry  to  leave  Peoria.  I  am  like 
poor  papa,  I  only  want  the  things  I  have  not  got. 
Turn  here,  Henry,  and  drive  straight  home. 
Now  I  should  like  to  buy  that  picture  store  and 
burn  it  down!  I'd  like  to  buy  that  museum  over 
there  and  burn  it  down." 


164    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"The  Metropolitan?"  Alida  cried,  touched  on 
a  nerve  of  civic  pride. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  I'd  build  another  twice  as 
big,  which  shows  that  I  am  becoming  idiotic." 

"It  does,"  Alida  answered,  frankly,  "and  that 
you  are  what  my  godmother  used  to  say  of  me 
when  I  would  not  eat  string-beans — both  wicked 
and  ungrateful.  I  don't  know  any  one  who  would 
not  change  places  with  you." 

"Except  Alida  Van  Wandeleer?" 

"Oh,  don't  count  me.  I  would  not  change 
to-day  with  any  one  who  ever  lived,"  replied 
Alida,  laughing  gayly. 

"One  might  suppose  that  you  had  crossed  that 
bridge  you  know  so  much  about,"  observed  Miss_ 
Brisbane,  sagely,  and  the  conversation  after  this 
grew  rational. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  MARK  OF  THE  DOLLAR 

Ben  Jonson  Brisbane  lay  back  against  the 
cushions  of  a  leathern  arm-chair,  his  feet  ex 
tended  to  the  fire,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head,  and  his  face  upturned  toward  the  massive 
panels  of  his  library  ceiling.  But  the  attitude 
was  no  more  one  of  relaxation  than  that  of  an 
observer  who  watches  for  the  moment  of  eclipse. 

He  had  his  daughter's  Irish  eyes,  and  some 
where  from  a  pack  of  shuffled  nationalities  he 
had  drawn  a  Roman  mouth  and  chin  which  he 
was  vain  enough  not  to  hide.  Even  in  the  strong 
light  of  his  sunny  room  his  skin  was  clear  and 
firm  and  wholesome,  and  his  hair,  in  spite  of  half 
a  century,  clung  to  his  head  with  virile  crispness 
save  where  one  lock  detached  itself  and  fell 
across  his  forehead. 

This  lock  was  characteristic  of  B.  J.,  and  in  the 
symbolism  of  the  comic  press  did  duty  as  a  dollar 
mark  so  often  that  its  cultivation  had  become,  in 
a  way,  a  public  obligation.  It  was  expected  of 
him  that  it  should  be  there.  It  was  the  token 
by  which  strangers  recognized  him,  and  to  his 
followers  on  'Change  it  was  an  oriflamme.  But  to 
165 


1 66    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

the  man  himself  it  had  once  meant  something 
more  than  a  dollar  mark. 

Ben  Jonson  Brisbane — there  had  been  court 
cards  in  the  pack — had  once  believed  himself  a 
writer  of  realistic  fiction,  chained  hand  and  foot 
to  imaginative  facts  in  a  provincial  jail-yard  of 
journalism,  until  one  day,  apprehending  the 
logic  of  events,  he  made  a  million  dollars,  by 
corner  or  concession — traditions  differ — and  dis 
covered  in  himself  a  fourth  dimension,  a  sixth 
sense.  Some  people,  being  blindfolded,  can 
divine  the  north,  and  others  know  when  they 
cross  water  running  underground.  B.  J.  knew 
when  to  buy  and  when  to  sell,  and  this  was  his 
explanation  of  himself,  which  being  the  true  one 
found  no  general  acceptance.  Meanwhile,  he 
remained  as  he  had  been  born,  a  deviser  of  plots, 
and  it  was  the  clairvoyance  of  a  Victor  Hugo 
rather  than  a  Rothschild  that  lighted  in  his  Celtic 
eyes,  fixed  on  the  carving  of  his  paneled  ceiling. 

So  silent  was  the  library  that  Bessie  Brisbane 
and  her  guest,  coming  softly  to  it  down  the  car 
peted  corridor,  made  sure  B.  J.  must  be  alone  if 
he  were  there  at  all,  but  at  the  open  door  they 
drew  back,  perceiving  their  mistake. 

A  girl  of  their  own  age  was  seated  at  a  window 
in  an  attitude  of  attention,  a  pad  of  yellow  paper 
on  her  knees,  and  a  pencil  in  her  hand,  and  when 
she,  being  less  preoccupied  than  her  companion, 


The  Mark  of  the  Dollar         167 

looked  up,  Alida  was  glad  to  recognize  Serena 
Schepmoes, — Serena,  small  and  unobtrusive,  her 
soft,  brown  hair  drawn  tightly  back,  and  her  eyes, 
a  shade  too  near  together,  expressing  only  readi 
ness — impersonal,  mechanical  readiness.  The 
round  keys  of  the  open  typewriter  at  her  elbow 
expressed  as  much. 

"What  was  that  last?"  inquired  Mr.  Brisbane, 
after  a  silence  that  must  have  lasted  several  min 
utes,  and  the  other,  reading-  from  the  pad,  re 
plied:  "What  we  have  most  to  guard  against — " 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Brisbane,  taking  up  the 
thread,  and  continuing  in  an  even  monotone, 
"What  we  have  most  to  guard  against  is  the 
sudden  release  of  large  blocks  of  Balkan  now  in 
conservative  hands.  We  shall  sustain  the  mar 
ket  in  this  and  other  directions,  and  any  dispo 
sition  to  capitalize  profits  will  be  met  by  a 
sufficient  decline  to  check  further  sales.  It 
would  be  better,  however,  to  keep  things  upon 
an  even  keel  by  a  judicious  balance  of  private 
tips  and  published  denials  which  must  be  advan 
tageous  in  the  end  to  all  concerned.  Don't  lose 
touch  with  Ajax  for  a  moment,  and  if  a  certain 
presence  seems  advisable  to  both  of  you,  wire 
'Brig  Mary  Ann  unloading  at  Commercial 
Wharf.  Keep  the  babies  warm.'  That  will  be 
all,  Miss  Schepmoes,  thank  you." 

Mr.  Brisbane  made  himself  a  little  longer  in 


1 68     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

the  arm-chair,  and  laughed  a  laugh  of  quiet 
satisfaction. 

"No,  stop  one  moment,  please,"  he  said  again. 
"This  is  a  telegram  to  the  same  address.  'Sing 
Holland  Juniper  Klondyke. '  Have  you  that?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Brisbane,"  replied  Serena,  repeat 
ing  the  cryptic  words,  and  immediately  the 
typewriter  went  into  violent  action,  which  the 
protesting  voice  of  Bessie  was  powerless  to  dis 
turb. 

"This  is  a  pretty  way  to  spend  a  holiday," 
cried  that  young  lady,  coming  up  behind  her 
father's  chair.  "If  I  were  Miss  Schepmoes  I'd 
strike." 

"Why,  hello,  Bess,"  said  B.  J.,  indolently. 
"We  are  not  working,  are  we,  Miss  Schepmoes? 
A  thought  or  two  occurred  to  me — 

"  'Sing  Holland,  Juniper  Klondyke,'  "  quoted 
Bessie.  "Most  charming  little  thoughts  they 
are,  I'm  sure.  Are  not  you  going  to  speak  to 
Alida?" 

"Not  the  Princess  Alida!"  exclaimed  Brisbane, 
rising  with  exaggerated  haste,  and  to  the  visitor 
he  murmured,  as  he  bent  over  her  hand,  "I  am 
your  very  humble  servant." 

"A  Happy  New  Year,  Mr.  Brisbane,"  returned 
Alida,  gayly,  for  the  impetus  of  bells  and  frosty 
air  was  still  upon  her,  and  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  splendid  house  the  holiday  took  on  new  actu- 


The  Mark  of  the  Dollar          169 

ality.  "I  hope  you  don't  mind  being  broken  in 
upon.  It's  all  my  fault;  I've  never  seen  this 
room  before  by  daylight.  How  beautiful  it  is." 

"Yes,  pretty  as  a  red  wagon,"  he  assented, 
laughing. 

"It  might  have  been  designed  and  built  in 
Pullman,"  put  in  Bessie,  fervently. 

"The  highest  art,"  went  on  her  father,  in 
accents  of  instruction,  "is  that  which  best  inter 
prets  its  own  period,  and  Pullman  stands  for 
national  aspirations  in  this  year  of  grace." 

"It  stands  for  the  Chicago  limited,"  insisted 
Bessie,  and  her  father  laughed  again,  light- 
heartedly. 

Resting  his  elbow  on  the  high  mantelpiece  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  brushed  the  dollar  mark 
aside. 

"And  so  do  we,"  he  assured  her;  "we  stand 
for  the  Chicago  limited,  and  what  we  lose  on 
curves,  we  make  up  when  we  strike  a  tangent. 
Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  your  section  is  reserved." 

"Dear  me,"  sighed  Bessie,  in  affectation  of  de 
spair,  "I  feel  just  like  that  girl  in  Thackeray  who 
said  'You'll  find  poor  pa  sadly  vulgar.'  And, 
oh,  Alida,  that  reminds  me — a  nice  old  lady 
asked  B.  J.  the  other  night  if  he  had  read  'Van 
ity  Fair,'  and  he  assured  her  that  he  had  read  it 
in  the  original!  Wasn't  it  lovely?" 

At  the  window  the  patter  of  flying  hammers 


The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

and  the  tinkle  of  the  little  bell  that  announces 
when  a  line  is  nearly  finished,  ceased,  and  Bessie, 
as  though  she  had  been  waiting  for  the  chance, 
crossed  to  speak  to  Serena  Schepmoes. 

"Please  show  me  how  to  make  the  ribbon  go 
the  other  way,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  in  a  minute,"  said  the  other,  preoccu 
pied  with  an  erasure  and  the  printing  in  of  a 
correction,  and  not  until  this  was  finished  to  her 
satisfaction  did  she  explain  the  small  attachment 
at  the  side. 

"You  have  to  use  more  force  than  that,"  she 
said,  when  Bessie  had  tried  and  failed. 

Presently  Alida,  too,  came  up  and  said  good 
morning  to  the  secretary,  who  returned  the  salu 
tation  with  an  expressive  wink  (which  seemed 
uncalled  for),  and  the  lesson  in  mechanics  was 
resumed. 

"I  love  machinery,"  declared  Bessie,  wiping 
her  fingers  on  a  handkerchief  worth  a  day's  work 
at  union  rates.  "I'd  be  perfectly  happy  if  I  could 
run  a  locomotive.  Papa,  did  you  ever  run  a 
locomotive?" 

"No,  daughter,"  answered  Brisbane,  "I've 
only  fired  one — a  narrow  gauge  freight  engine  on 
the  Blue  Hill  branch." 

Oddly  enough,  as  he  said  this  a  burst  of  flame 
from  the  wide  chimney  shone  red  upon  his  face. 
It  was  as  though  the  furnace  door  had  opened  as 


The  Mark  of  the  Dollar         171 

the  rocking  freighter  buckled  to  the  grade,  but 
the  cause  of  this  illumination  was  a  man  in  livery 
who  knelt  at  B.  J.  's  feet  to  throw  another  hickory 
log  upon  the  fire. 

"Is  Mrs.  Brisbane  in  the  par — rose  room?"  he 
inquired  of  the  servant,  making  the  correction 
with  a  knowing  glance  toward  Alida. 

"I  think  Mrs.  Brisbane  rang  the  elevator  bell 
just  now,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"Come,  girls,"  said  B.  J.,  warningly,  "you 
know  what  mama  is  when  expecting  company." 

"Miss  Schepmoes,"  said  Bessie,  "if  you  will 
waste  your  holiday  by  being  here,  you  must  take 
the  consequences.  Won't  you  come  down  when 
you  are  ready  and  help  us?" 

"Thanks,"  said  Miss  Schepmoes,  with  com 
posure;  "what's  up?" 

"Oh,  nothing  very  exciting,  some  Englishmen 
are  coming,  and  we  are  going  to  have  tea  and 
pretend  that  we  like  it." 

"Lord  Wensdale,"  put  in  Alida,  in  the  hope  of 
heading  off  a  wink. 

"Wensdale?"  repeated  Serena,  folding  her 
finished  letters;  "the  Yorkshire  family,  I  sup 
pose.  He  must  be  about  the  third  earl,  the  title 
is  not  very  old." 

"I  never  thought  of  their  having  vintages  in 
lords,"  said  Bessie,  laughing;  "I  supposed  they 
lumped  them  all  together." 


The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Miss  Schepmoes,  reaching  for  the  envelopes, 
bent  down  her  head.  She  found  her  employer 
and  his  family  an  endless  source  of  satisfaction. 

In  the  corridor,  B.  J.  said:  "I  like  our  little 
friend  Serena  very  much.  She  has  a  great  dra 
matic  future  before  her." 

"She  did  think  once  of  going  on  the  stage," 
rejoined  Alida,  doubtfully.  "Do  you  consider 
that  a  disadvantage  in  a  secretary?" 

"Oh,  no,  indeed,  a  great  advantage;  my  last 
incumbent  thought  of  going  on  'Change.  When 
ever  I  dictated  a  letter  I  had  to  follow  it  with  a 
contradictory  one.  The  effort  nearly  killed  us 
both." 

"You  know  you  loved  to  do  it,"  declared  his 
daughter. 

Perhaps  if  Sardanapalas  had  undertaken  the 
adornment  of  the  Brisbane  house  with  Fifth 
Avenue  shops  to  draw  upon,  he  might  have  found 
more  places  to  put  expensive  things,  but  this  is 
idle  speculation.  He  surely  could  not  have  lav 
ished  treasure  with  a  better  will,  and  nowhere 
was  this  more  apparent  than  in  the  rose  room. 
It  was  like  a  foretaste  of  the  eighth  day  of  cre 
ation — that  day  of  "Let  there  be  roses"  yet  to 
come,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  a  frail  and  faded 
Eve  stood  making  nervous,  unimportant  changes 
in  the  ornaments.  Upon  the  entrance  of  Ben 
Jonson  Brisbane  and  his  two  companions  she 


The  Mark  of  the  Dollar          173 

turned  to  them  in  evident  relief.  It  was  one  of 
the  terrors  of  Mrs.  Brisbane's  life  that  some  day 
she  might  be  called  upon  to  face  her  guests  alone. 

Mrs.  Brisbane,  who  was  fair  and  spare,  and 
short  for  the  mother  of  so  tall  a  daughter,  had 
been  pretty  with  a  fleeting,  New  England  pretti- 
ness.  But  accepting  the  "had  been"  with  good 
grace,  she  gave  her  mind  to  the  four  unalterable 
tenets  of  a  faith  which  held  her  husband  to  be 
the  most  brilliant  man  in  the  world,  her  daughter 
the  most  attractive  woman,  herself  the  victim  of 
a  complaint  known  as  oppression,  and  Martini 
cocktails  a  reliable  family  remedy. 

She  had  known  adversity,  and  she  knew  pros 
perity — limitless  prosperity.  In  the  one  case  she 
had  been  mildly  extravagant,  in  the  other  she 
practiced  secret  small  economies  to  maintain  her 
equilibrium.  And  her  normal  expression  of 
placid  bewilderment  varied  at  times  toward 
pained  bewilderment  or  pleased  bewilderment, 
as  oppression  or  Martini  reigned  lord  of  her 
ascendant.  Could  an  angel  have  whispered  to 
her,  "Rachel,  you  are  doing  admirably,"  it 
would  not  have  hurt  the  angel's  reputation  for 
veracity,  and  it  would  have  been  a  great  comfort 
to  Mrs.  Brisbane. 

"Oh,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  you!"  she  cried,  effusively;  "I  don't  know 
what  we  should  have  done  without  you." 


174    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Mama's  idea  of  a  pleasant  party  begins  and 
ends  with  you,  Alida, "  supplemented  Bessie, 
taking  a  handful  of  roses  from  a  silver  bowl  and 
dividing  them  with  perfect  fairness. 

"Ben,  please  don't  go  away  again,"  pleaded 
Mrs.  Brisbane,  suspecting  an  intent  to  avoid 
responsibilities  as  her  husband  moved  toward 
another  door. 

"I  sha'n't,"  he  answered,  reassuringly;  "I  am 
here  to  amuse  the  company,  especially  the  Prin 
cess  Alida,  to  whom  I  shall  now  exhibit  the  entire 
collection,  beginning  with  room  A." 

"But  you  must  stay  in  here!" 

"By  no  means.  Would  you  have  them  find  all 
the  talent  in  a  row  like  a  Merry  Thought  Quar 
tette?  Bessie,  reason  with  your  mother  while 
Miss  Van  Wandeleer  and  I  discuss  the  fine 
arts." 

"Alida,  don't  let  him  escape,"  said  Bessie, 
"and  bring  him  back  when  you  smell  muffins." 

"I  shall  expect  you  to  explain  everything," 
said  Alida  to  her  host,  as  they  passed  into 
another  and  a  larger  room,  the  pervading  tones  of 
which  were  those  of  Flemish  tapestry. 

"No,"  he  answered,  lightly,  "it  is  not  often 
that  I  get  in  this  particular  part  of  the  limited 
myself.  My  place  is  further  on  ahead." 

"In  the  smoking  car,"  she  suggested,  remem 
bering  a  mysterious  haunt  of  men. 


The  Mark  of  the  Dollar         175 

"No,"  said  the  former  stoker,  laughing,  "in 
the  cab. " 

As  her  guide  seemed  little  disposed  to  linger 
over  several  objects  well  worth  looking  at,  Alida 
protested. 

"You  are  not  showing  me  anything,"  she  said. 

"There  are  only  two  things  here  I  want  to 
show  you,"  he  rejoined.  "Two  pictures;  one 
that  I  think  rather  good  and  one  that  I  am  sure 
is  horribly  bad.  Which  shall  we  take  first?" 

"Whichever  comes  the  first." 

"That  happens  to  be  the  good  one.  Here, 
just  above  your  head.  Come  this  way  a  step  and 
tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

Alida  took  the  required  step  and  stood  a 
moment  looking  silently  at  one  of  the  most 
puzzling  compositions  she  had  ever  seen. 

"It  is  St.  Martin  of  Tours  and  the  Beggar," 
she  said  at  length;  "he  is  in  the  act  of  taking  off 
his  cloak  to  divide  with  the  other." 

"I  see  you  know  the  legend,"  said  B.  J. 

"But,  Mr.  Brisbane,"  cried  Alida,  taking  a 
wider  range  of  the  canvas,  "they  are  in  Madison 
Square.  Surely  those  are  the  lights  of  the  gar 
den  through  the  trees.  And  there  are  modern 
people  all  about,  and  in  the  distance,  hansom 
cabs.  Let  me  have  a  moment  to  take  it  in." 

As  the  moment  passed,  and  others,  the  motif 
of  the  picture  seemed  no  longer  fantastic,  but 


ij6    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

plausible  and  possible,  almost  convincing  in  its 
realism. 

"It  is  wonderful,"  Alida  said,  at  length.  "I 
do  not  know  which  to  admire  most,  the  artist's 
truthful  rendering  of  night  and  mist  and  melting 
snow,  or  his  daring  in  introducing  those  two 
figures  in  the  full  electric  light.  Who  was  he?" 

"Oh,  a  boy  I  used  to  know.  He  once  sold 
papers  on  the  Illinois  Central,  but  he  went  to 
Paris  afterward  to  study  art  and  got  a  lot  of 
medals,  married  a  French  girl,  and  bought  a 
chateau  on  the  Loire.  He  sent  me  this  one  day 
for  old  times'  sake.  That's  all  the  story,  but  I 
thought  the  picture  might  appeal  to  you.  Shall 
we  go  on  to  the  other?" 

"No,"  she  replied;  "I  have  not  yet  seen 
enough  of  this." 

A  carved  gold  chair  stood  beneath  the  picture, 
and  on  this  Alida  mounted,  giving  little  heed  to 
its  gobelin  covering;  her  eyes  were  nearly  upon 
a  level  with  the  painted  faces. 

"Come,  that  is  not  allowed!"  exclaimed  B.  J. 

"Then  you  should  not  have  left  out  part  of  the 
story,"  she  answered,  when  she  had  sprung 
lightly  down,  and  B.  J.  of  many  deals  turned 
red — red  as  St.  Martin  might  have  turned  had  he 
been  detected — much  redder  than  he  turned  him 
self  when  the  dollar  mark  artists  had  been  espe 
cially  clever. 


The  Mark  of  the  Dollar          177 

When  they  paused  again  at  the  further  end  of 
the  long  room,  Alida,  looking  up  at  a  large,  dark 
picture,  asked,  "Is  this  the  bad  one?" 

"No,  that  happens  to  be  a  treasure;  some  day 
when  nobody  is  about  I  mean  to  scrub  it  with 
sapolio.  The  bad  one  is  the  little  fellow  under 
neath." 

The  little  fellow,  a  water-color,  and  unquestion 
ably  deserving  of  its  ill-repute,  was  a  view  of 
sepia  mountains  beneath  a  cobalt  sky,  with  a  tor 
rent  in  the  foreground  of  a  green  most  often 
seen  in  maps.  A  positive  line  traversing  the 
mountain  side  terminated  near  the  center  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  spot  of  ink. 

"The  mystery  about  this,"  began  the  guide, 
"disappears  at  once  when  we  learn  that  the  line 
is  a  railway,  and  the  spot  intended  for  the  en 
trance  to  a  tunnel.  A  German  draughtsman 
made  the  sketch,  and  I  valued  it  as  a  reminder 
of  how  undeserved  successes  sometimes  are. 
But,  come  to  think  of  it,  the  story  would  not 
interest  you  in  the  least." 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  it  would!"  exclaimed  Alida; 
"I  must  hear  it." 

"Then  let  us  sit  down  here,  that  is,  if  you  can 
smell  muffins  at  so  long  a  range." 

"No,  but  I  can  see  Bessie  at  the  tea-table,  and 
she  will  be  certain  to  make  a  sign.  Tell  me 
about  the  railway  and  the  tunnel." 


178    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

They  sat  at  opposite  ends  of  a  carved  and 
gilded  sofa,  blood  brother  to  the  St.  Martin 
chair,  and  too  high  for  a  person  of  Alida's  length 
of  limb  to  touch  the  floor.  Even  B.  J.,  in  his 
corner,  clasped  his  hands  about  one  raised  knee 
for  comfort.  His  poses,  which  when  set  in  gobe 
lin,  suggested  aesthetic  affectation  at  times,  were 
in  truth  the  easy  attitudes  of  one  who  rests  on 
bales  of  freight. 

"You  must  know,"  began  the  narrator,  "that 
at  one  time  several  railway  companies  were 
anxious  to  extend  their  lines  across  a  mountain 
range.  Some  of  them  built  tunnels  and  others 
switchbacks  till  every  pass  was  pre-empted  and 
every  possible  way  of  getting  over  taken  up,  and 
the  little  road  in  which  I  was  interested  was,  to 
all  appearances,  left  out  in  the  cold." 

B.  J.  spoke  so  pathetically  of  his  little  road 
that  Alida's  sympathies  went  out  to  it  at  once. 

"I  thought  it  was  all  up  with  us,  but  in  spite 
of  the  engineer's  reports  I  undertook  a  forlorn- 
hope  exploration  on  my  own  account.  One  day, 
while  following  a  most  unpromising  trail,  I  found 
myself  overtaken  by  nightfall,  and  came  upon  a 
lonely  cabin." 

"I  am  sure  it  is  going  to  be  a  ghost  story," 
Alida  interrupted. 

"It  would  have  to  be  in  fiction,"  he  admitted, 
seriously,  "but  this  is  only  plain,  improbable 


The  Mark  of  the  Dollar         179 

fact.  It  was  just  an  ordinary  miner's  cabin,  ten 
miles  from  anywhere,  but  there  were  two  remark 
able  things  about  it." 

As  B.  J.  paused  here  for  mock  effect,  Alida 
clapped  her  hands  in  mute  applause. 

"Two  very  remarkable  things,  considering  the 
place,"  he  went  on,  slowly,  "a  cow — an  Alderney 
if  I  remember  rightly — which  grazed  on  a  small 
plateau  where  the  grass  grew  abundantly,  and  a 
young  man  who  sat  in  a  hammock  and  read 
Browning." 

"I  believe  you  are  making  up  the  story  as  you 
go  along,"  Alida  said,  ungratefully. 

"Indeed  I  am  not,"  he  protested,  laughing, 
"and  I  have  not  come  to  the  most  interesting 
part  yet.  The  young  man  turned  out  to  be  about 
the  best  fellow  I  ever  ran  across,  and  the  cow 
was  a  dream  of  infancy.  Of  course  I  stayed 
there  over  night,  and  paid  for  my  keep  with  good 
advice  about  the  quartz  vein  he  was  working  on. " 

"I  thought  he  was  reading  Browning." 

"So  he  was,  while  waiting  for  a  partner  who 
had  gone  thirty  miles  to  buy  powder — blasting 
powder,  you  understand.  And  incidentally  I  may 
say  that  the  partner  never  came  back." 

"Why  not?" 

"Possibly  because  he  found  some  more  prom 
ising  enterprise,  and  I  cannot  blame  him  very 
much  when  I  recall  that  vein  of  quartz.  It  was 


180    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

white  and  beautiful  and  clear  as  ice,  but  there 
was  not  a  fleck  of  gold  to  be  got  out  of  it  except 
in  theory." 

"But  don't  you  think  the  partner  behaved  very 
badly?" 

"Perhaps  he  was  not  fond  of  Browning,"  said 
B.  J.,  charitably;  "we  should  not  judge  too 
harshly.  That  evening  by  the  fire  my  host  and 
I  fell  naturally  into  swapping  troubles,  and  when 
he  heard  mine  he  laughed." 

"I  thought  you  said  he  was  nice." 

"He  was,  and  that  is  why  he  laughed.  The 
next  morning  he  put  me  onto  something  all  the 
rest  had  overlooked ;  a  place  where  a  tunnel 
could  be  bored  right  through  the  mountain  to  a 
gulch  upon  the  other  side  not  half  a  mile  from 
where  we  were.  You  will  understand  how  much 
this  meant  to  me,  when  I  tell  you  that  it  is  to-day 
the  best  and  shortest  route  between  the  valleys 
and  the  plains." 

"Was  not  that  fortunate!"  cried  Alida,  more 
gratified  by  B.  J.'s  confidence  in  her  intelligence 
than  impressed  by  the  ctinodment.  "And  what 
became  of  the  miner?" 

"Of  course,  our  company  would  have  given 
him  anything  in  reason,  so  we  made  a  bargain 
that  he  should  have  the  right  to  any  quartz  veins 
we  might  discover  in  our  tunnel.  But  there  did 
not  happen  to  be  any  there,  so  in  the  end  he  got 


The  Mark  of  the  Dollar          181 

nothing,  and  I  made  more  than  I  deserved,  both 
in  fame  and  money.  Rather  shrewd  in  me,  was 
it  not?" 

"I  don't  believe  you  treated  him  unfairly," 
said  Alida,  stoutly. 

"It  is  a  fact,  all  the  same,"  said  Mr.  Brisbane, 
"that  the  man  who  saved  our  scheme  got  nothing 
for  his  pains.  I  wish  the  picture  were  a  little 
bigger,  it  would  make  such  a  team  with  St. 
Martin." 

"I  won't  believe  it,"  said  Alida,' rising.  "See 
there  are  people  in  the  rose  room,  and  Bessie 
is  holding  up  a  muffin." 


CHAPTER  XII 

MUFFINS  AND  ALLIGATORS 

"Shall  we  break  in  on  them,  or  wait  for  an 
effective  cue?"  B.  J.  whispered  to  Alida,  as  they 
paused  within  the  shadow  of  a  rosy  curtain  to 
survey  the  group. 

The  rose  room  party,  now  increased  in  size 
by  three  male  visitors  and  Serena  Schepmoes, 
had  managed  to  make  the  worst  possible  distri 
bution  of  itself.  Mrs.  Brisbane  strove  to  enter 
tain  Lord  Wensdale  under  a  daughter's  alert  and 
disapproving  eye;  Mr.  Leigh-Watkins,  who  ever 
regarded  Bessie  with  distrust,  assisted  that  young 
lady  with  a  spirit  lamp,  and  Mr.  Howlet,  openly 
anxious  to  take  the  vicar's  place,  occupied  a 
distant  seat  beside  Serena. 

"When  we  were  at  Nutley  Abbey,"  observed 
Mrs.  Brisbane,  drawing  inspiration  from  a  cherry 
in  the  bottom  of  an  empty  glass,  "Bessie  found 
fault  with  me  for  asking  if  they  intended  to 
rebuild ;  but  I  was  perfectly  right,  for  in  less 
than  six  months  they  wrote  us  for  a  contribution. " 

"I  see.     We'll  soon  not  have  a  decent  ruin 
left,"  lamented  his  lordship,  who  evidently  sup 
posed  Martinis  should  be  sipped  like  port. 
182 


Muffins  and  Alligators  183 

From  the  vicinity  of  the  spirit  lamp  there 
came  a  milder  voice. 

"The  parish  building  is  to  be  of  brick  and 
terra-cotta  with  symbolic  figures  above  the 
door." 

"How  many  pieces?"  asked  Miss  Brisbane, 
her  tongs  suspended  over  the  sugar-bowl. 

"Twelve,"  said  the  vicar,  simply,  "arranged 
in  a  semi-circle." 

Across  the  room,  Serena  said:  "My  grand 
mother  used  to  visit  the  dowager  duchess  of 
Perth." 

"Really!"  answered  Mr.  Howlet,  without 
enthusiasm.  "Beastly  old  frump  she  must  have 
been." 

"Enter  the  Princess  Alida, "  whispered  B.  J., 
"followed  by  villain  who  gives  glad  hand  to 
duke." 

But  it  is  never  fair  to  judge  a  company  by 
fragments  of  disjointed  talk,  and  there  were 
much  greater  conversational  possibilities  in  the 
rose  room  than  might  be  supposed  at  first. 

Mr.  Leigh-Watkins — his  cloth  entitles  him  to 
precedence — was  a  good-looking  young  man,  who 
hyphenated  opposing  tendencies  as  he  did  his 
name.  To  Alida,  catching  the  infectious  raillery 
of  B.  J.,  he  suggested  a  polo  player  who  had  put 
on  sacredotal  raiment  for  a  lark.  His  hair, 
short,  crisp,  and  red — the  shade  was  almost 


184    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

primary — repeated  itself  in  heavy  eyebrows  and 
a  neat  mustache,  and  when  his  brown  eyes  took 
on  a  pastoral  mildness  one  felt  one  ought  to  be 
amused. 

Howlet  was  tall  and  spare,  with  a  long  mus 
tache  made  longer  by  much  pulling;  his  method 
of  expressing  thought  began  commonly  with  a 
low  hoot  suggestive  of  a  sudden  pain,  and  his 
favorite  articulate  word  was  "really,"  which 
adverb  he  had  trained  to  surprising  conver 
sational  feats. 

Lord  Wensdale,  also  tall,  was  broader  than  his 
nephew,  and  amiability  personified;  he  would 
have  been  most  agreeable  had  he  not  labored 
under  two  illusions;  that  all  American  humor 
was  amusing,  and  that  most  American  remarks 
were  humorous.  For  the  rest  he  had  black  side 
whiskers  closely  trimmed,  white  teeth,  and  a 
guileless  smile,  and  he  said  "I  see"  quite  often. 

But  to  Alida,  whose  advance  impressions  had 
been  received  from  Howlet  through  the  medium- 
ship  of  Bessie,  Lord  Wensdale  was  a  distinct 
surprise.  He  did  not  seem  at  all  what  is  implied 
by  the  terms  "rum  old  chap,"  "queer  old 
Wenny,"  or  even  "jolly  good  sort."  He  was  an 
active  gentleman  of  forty  or  thereabout,  with  a 
marvellously  good  opinion  of  himself,  and  a 
shrewd  habit  of  estimating  persons  and  ideas  as 
they  presented  themselves.  If  Bessie  had  really 


Muffins  and  Alligators          185 

meant  what  she  said  in  the  sleigh — but  then  did 
Bessie  mean  it? 

Mr.  Brisbane  had,  on  entering,  gone  directly 
to  where  his  wife  was  engaged  in  deadly  con 
verse  with  Lord  Wensdale.  Drawing  a  light 
chair  between  them,  he  sat  down  and  began  at 
once  with  some  suggestion  challenging  animated 
discussion,  which  soon  set  all  three  laughing 
heartily.  It  was  remarkable  how  the  faded  little 
woman  brightened  and  acquired  confidence  under 
her  husband's  protecting  wing,  and  what  really 
clever  things  she  either  said  or  seemed  to  say. 
And  later,  when  the  earl  told  Alida  that  Bris 
bane's  wife  must  have  been  a  great  help  to 
him  in  his  career,  he  said  it  with  complete 
sincerity. 

Alida  herself  had  borne  down  to  the  relief  of 
Bessie. 

"Let  me  make  tea  now,"  she  said,  "as  every 
one  has  had  some  it  is  of  no  consequence  how 
badly  I  do  it." 

"All  right,  if  you  insist,"  said  Bessie,  rising 
with  alacrity.  "Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Leigh- 
Watkins,  whose  management  of  spirit  lamps  is 
really  miraculous." 

Alida  bowed  and  so  did  Mr.  Leigh-Watkins. 
He  was  standing  and  held  a  plate  of  muffins  by 
request  with  much  the  same  quality  of  good  will 
with  which  a  poodle  holds  a  pipe. 


1 86    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  have  heard  so  much  of  you,  Miss  Van  Wan- 
deleer,"  he  murmured,  casting  about  him  fora 
place  to  put  the  muffins. 

"But  very  little  to  my  credit,  I'm  afraid," 
returned  Alida.  "Put  them  in  the  rose  bowl. 
But  please  give  me  one  first,  that  is,  if  you  don't 
mind  seeing  me  eat  it." 

"Nothing  could  give  me  greater  pleasure,"  said 
the  clergyman,  referring  to  the  act  rather  than 
the  spectacle. 

"But  don't  you  think  it  would  be  kinder  if  you 
were  to  take  one,  too?"  went  on  Alida,  "and 
between  bites  you  can  tell  me  all  the  disagreeable 
things  you  have  ever  heard  about  me." 

"Ah,  that  would  be  too  delightful,"  he  replied, 
not  knowing  that  it  would  be  years  before  he 
could  again  taste  hot  butter  without  a  pang. 

Meanwhile  Alida  kept  an  active  ear  toward  a 
trio  just  behind  her  back. 

"Ohoo,  really!"  hooted  Mr.  Howlet;  "and 
what  do  you  think  of  Uncle  Wenny,  dear  old 
chap?" 

"In  the  first  place,"  answered  Bessie,  "I  don't 
think  'dear  old  Wenny'  old  at  all." 

"Really!  Prime  of  life,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
of  course." 

"I  should  not  call  him  young,"  put  in  Serena. 

"Now  would  you?"  rejoined  Howlet,  grate 
fully. 


Muffins  and  Alligators          187 

"No,  I  should  say,  decidedly  middle  aged." 

"Really!" 

"And  a  confirmed  old  bachelor.  Not  a  man 
likely  to  marry." 

Mr.  Howlet  found  the  very  thought  amusing. 

"No,  not  the  marrying  sort  at  all,"  he  said. 
"Old  Wen  goes  in  for  tigers  and  missionaries 
He's  just  back  from  Bombay  or  some  such  place 
where  they've  a  famine  or  something  of  the  sort. 
He's  been  distributing  relief  funds,  don't  you 
know.  And  now  he's  over  here  to  buy  up  all  the 
cows  and  advance  the  price  of  beef.  I  fancy 
some  of  our  family  must  have  been  highwaymen. 
Those  border  boys,  you  know,  who  used — " 

"To  take  from  the  rich  and  give  to  the  poor," 
interpreted  Bessie,  for  Mr.  Howlet  sometimes 
interpreted  himself  at  length. 

"I  should  think  you  would  feel  anxious  when 
your  uncle  goes  to  such  unhealthy  places,"  said 
Miss  Schepmoes,  with  a  smile.  Serena  had  dis 
covered  that  with  a  smile  one  might  say  almost 
anything  to  Mr.  Howlet. 

"Really!     Yes,  poor  old  chap!" 

"How  does  he  like  your  calling  him  old?" 

"Oh,  Wenny  does  not  care,  he's  such  a  good 
sort,  don't  you  know." 

"I  suppose,"  went  on  Serena,  "that  when  he 
is  at  home  he  lives  at  the  family  seat  in  York 
shire. " 


1 88     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"But  Wensdale  is  in  Devon,  don't  you  know," 
corrected  Mr.  Howlet.  "Oh,  yes,  he  is  there 
when  he  is  not  up  in  town  or  somewhere  else. 
He's  awfully  fond  of  having  people  down,  and 
lets  them  own  the  place,  and  walk  all  over  him." 

"For  the  shooting,"  said  Miss  Schepmoes, 
knowingly. 

"No,  really!  He's  a  lot  of  odd  ideas  about 
killing  things  for  sport  that  he's  picked  up  from 
those  duffers  out  in  India." 

"Is  Wensdale  a  show  place?"  inquired  Serena, 
bent  on  exhaustive  information. 

"Oh,  well,  you  might  say  so  in  a  way,"  replied 
Mr.  Howlet,  who  was  not  without  his  share  of 
family  pride,  "but  it's  off  the  line,  you  know,  for 
trippers  and  Americans.  Oh,  I  beg  your  par 
don,  I  mean  to  say  it's  rather  off  the  line,  you 
know." 

"And  filled  with  heirlooms,"  suggested  Serena, 
still  unsatisfied,  and  Alida  noticed  that  Bessie 
had  said  very  little.  But  this  was  not  the  class 
of  conversation  in  which  Bessie  shone. 

Yes,  Wensdale  was  filled  with  heirlooms,  and 
moreover  had  a  private  ruin  and  a  ghost  which 
lost  nothing  in  importance  through  the  seeming 
reluctance  of  their  expounder.  And  still  Miss 
Schepmoes  pressed  to  greater  heights,  and  still 
Miss  Brisbane  followed  silently. 

"The    fellowship    of    souls,"    observed    Mr. 


Muffins  and  Alligators          189 

Leigh-Watkins,  pensively,  "is  all  we  know  of 
heaven." 

"I  beg  to  challenge  that  remark,"  said  B.  J., 
coming  up,  "I  hold  that  heaven  is  all  we  know 
of  the  fellowship  of  souls." 

The  young  clergyman's  brown  eyes  said 
plainly,  "I  did  not  speak  to  you,  sir,"  but  his 
lips  said  to  his  host:  "I  don't  quite  catch  your 
point." 

"And  I,"  announced  B.  J.,  "am  prepared  to 
leave  the  question  to  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  with 
out  argument." 

"I  say,"  replied  Alida,  rising,  "that  the  fel 
lowship  of  heaven  is  all  we  know  of  souls,"  which 
being  the  final  twist  the  sentence  was  capable  of 
sustaining,  passed  for  a  decision. 

Presently,  in  the  general  shifting  of  positions 
Alida  found  herself  near  Lord  Wensdale. 

"You  shall  not  pass  without  speaking  to  me, 
Miss  Van  Wandeleer,"  he  said,  with  his  most 
open  smile.  "I'm  told  you  are  a  Knickerbocker, 
and  I  have  always  wanted  to  know  a  real,  live 
Knickerbocker. ' ' 

"I  am  so  glad  you  want  to  know  me,"  she 
replied,  "because  I  have  always  wanted  to  know 
a  real,  live  earl." 

"I  see,"  returned  the  Englishman,  laughing, 
for  he  scented  humor,  "and  would  it  not  be  odd 
if  each  were  to  find  the  other  very  much  like 


The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

every  other  body — I  mean  to  say — every  other 
good-looking  body — "  and  drawing  himself  erect 
he  twisted  his  mustache  with  exaggerated  com 
placency. 

"But  your  nephew  is  good-looking,"  said 
Alida,  "and  I  do  not  think  you  at  all  alike." 

The  retort,  not  a  brilliant  one,  might  even 
have  been  declared  elementary  in  humor,  but 
Alida  made  it  with  a  purpose  which  it  fulfilled. 
Lord  Wensdale's  eyes  had  been  directed  toward 
the  group  which  still  delved  in  Devonshire  tra 
ditions,  and  no  eyes  directed  thitherward  could 
fail  to  note  Miss  Brisbane. 

Bessie,  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  sat  with 
her  head  thrown  back,  her  well-nigh  perfect  pro 
file  outlined  against  a  rosy  cushion,  and  her  Irish 
eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  nothing  in  particular, 
Bessie's  thoughts  were  probably  at  that  moment 
fixed  likewise  on  nothing  in  particular,  but  she 
appeared  to  think  unutterable  things. 

"Oh,  is  not  Bessie  beautiful?"  Alida  said, 
beneath  her  breath. 

"I  see!"  assented  Lord  Wensdale,  thought 
fully,  and  presently  Alida  spoke  of  sleighing. 
Even  if  Bessie  had  not  been  serious  she  had  done 
no  harm. 

Then  Mr.  Brisbane  stirred  up  Herbert  Howlet 
by  asking  if  the  English  were  fond  of  polo,  and 
made  ridiculous  assertions,  in  which  he  called 


Muffins  and  Alligators          191 

upon  his  wife  to  bear  him  out.  He  miscalled 
Bellevue  Avenue  to  Serena,  and  made  the  vicar 
swear  that  he  was  right,  and  he  always  so  put 
disputed  cases  to  Alida  that  she  was  forced  to 
decide  in  his  favor,  which  renewed  the  argument. 

"Hello,  where  is  Bess?"  he  asked,  looking 
about  for  fresh  victims. 

"I  think  she  took  Lord  Wensdale  to  see  the 
greenhouse,"  Mrs.  Brisbane  answered. 

"Palm-garden,  mama,"  he  corrected  her;  "they 
have  probably  gone  to  feed  the  alligators.  Let 
us  all  go  and  help  them." 

Miss  Brisbane  was  standing  by  a  fountain  in 
which  were  two  small  alligators — Pyramus  and 
Thisbe  by  name — who  did  not  look  as  though 
they  had  been  recently  fed.  Before  her  stood 
Lord  Wensdale,  smiling. 

"I  may  be  wrong,"  she  was  saying,  defiantly, 
"but  I  shall  not  admit  it — ever." 

"I  sha'n't  expect  you  to,"  he  answered;  "it's 
not  an  Anglo-Saxon  habit." 

"It  is  not  fair  to  have  so  many  facts,"  said 
Bessie.  "Next  time  we  fight  it  must  be  over 
something  I  know  all  about." 

"And  it  shall  be  a  battle  to  the  death,"  replied 
Lord  Wensdale.  "Remember,  I  have  taken  up 
your  glove." 

"Really!"  his  nephew  whispered  to  Alida, 
"whatever  is  old  Wenny  up  to  now?" 


192     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Somewhere  in  the  rear  of  the  party,  paired 
with  his  hostess,  the  vicar  was  heard  to  say, 
"My  thought  would  be  terra-cotta. " 

When  twenty  minutes  later  Alida  and  Miss 
Schepmoes  left  the  Park  Avenue  house  together, 
the  winter  day  had  given  place  to  a  white  night 
of  snowy  streets  and  carbon  lamps.  As  they 
turned  southward,  walking  rapidly,  for  the  wind 
came  chilly  from  the  frozen  river,  they  could  see 
the  straggling  procession  moving  toward  the 
Thirty-fourth  Street  ferry,  rapid,  silent  cars  all 
crowded  to  the  platform.  Further  across  the 
vista  of  Fourth  Avenue,  moved  other  proces 
sions,  other  cars,  till  the  lights  became  a  blur  at 
Union  Square,  and  that  was  only  a  new  begin 
ning.  Nearer,  broughams  and  hansoms  swarmed 
about  a  striped  awning,  where  footmen  stood 
arow,  and  women,  missing  an  object  lesson  in 
endurance,  waited  for  carriages  and  stamped 
their  feet. 

"Fancy  any  one  giving  a  tea  on  New  Year's 
Day!"  exclaimed  Serena.  "If  one  is  not  out  of 
town  one  is  supposed  to  be,  and  so  is  every  one 
who  knows." 

"Has  not  that  idea  rather  been  given  up?" 
inquired  Alida,  moderately. 

"Oh,  not  at  all."  Serena  was  always  well 
informed  in  spite  of  limited  opportunities  for 


Muffins  and  Alligators          193 

information.  "They  must  be  people  like  the 
Brisbanes  who  know  no  better." 

"Or  can  afford  to  please  themselves,"  Alida 
added,  somewhat  stiffly. 

Serena  laughed  with  unaffected  merriment. 

"Oh,  aren't  the  Brisbanes  delicious?"  she  cried. 
"Just  think  of  having  an  earl  to  tea  and  inviting 
in  your  typewriter  to  meet  him!"  If  Miss 
Schepmoes  was  critical,  she  was  at  least  con 
sistent. 

"I  never  think  of  myself  as  anything  but  my 
self,"  remarked  Alida. 

"No  more  do  I,"  returned  Serena;  "but  they 
do  not  care  for  that;  they  do  not  care  two  straws 
who  any  one  is.  I  suppose  when  Miss  Elizabeth 
Barrett  Brisbane,  daughter  of  Ben  Jonson  Bris 
bane — fancy  going  to  the  anthology  for  names — 
becomes  mistress  of  Wensdale  castle  in  Devon 
shire  she  will  have  the  beadle  and  the  parish  clerk 
to  dinner." 

"I  trust  that  I  shall  be  there  when  she  does," 
replied  Alida. 

"I  am  afraid  I  did  rub  it  in  about  his  age," 
went  on  Miss  Schepmoes,  "but  I  really  could  not 
help  it,  she  was  so  darned  Vere  de  Vere. " 

"But  Bessie  is  never  in  the  least  affected," 
protested  Bessie's  friend;  "she  is,  if  anything,  too 
direct  and  simple." 

Serena  laughed  derisively. 


194    Tfa  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Yes,  that's  her  role,"  she  sniffed.  "When 
she  said,  'Lord  Wensdale,  would  you  not  like  to 
see  my  alligators?'  one  might  imagine  the  beasts 
to  be  in  a  wash-tub  in  the  back  yard  instead  of  a 
million-dollar  palm-garden.  It  took  an  English 
man  to  swallow  those  alligators  at  a  gulp." 

"You  know  nothing  of  Bessie's  character," 
said  Alida,  "and  the  idea  of  her  being  interested 
in  a  man  she  never  saw  before  is  absurd. "  Then, 
to  divert  the  conversation,  she  added,  "Mr. 
Howlet  is  amusing,  is  he  not?" 

"I  hate  all  Englishmen,"  proclaimed  Serena. 
"You  were  so  wise  in  keeping  clear  of  titles. 
Bradish  Osterhout  is  worth  a  hundred  of  them." 

"There  is  no  reason  to  mention  him  at  all," 
said  Miss  Van  Wandeleer. 

"Of  course  not,"  the  other  agreed,  willingly, 
"I  know  that  nothing  is  announced." 

They  were  going  down  the  Madison  Avenue 
hill  now  at  a  rapid  pace — Serena's  wistful  glances 
toward  the  more  brilliant  street  a  block  to  west 
ward  had  been  of  no  avail — and  over  the  arcade 
of  the  Garden  of  Diana  just  ahead  a  galaxy  of  red 
electric  lamps  spelled  the  inscription,  Bernhardt. 

"Those  are  my  jewels,"  remarked  Serena, 
looking  up.  "But  Schepmoes  would  never  do, 
would  it?  The  very  sound  suggests  'Continuous. ' 
What  would  you  think  of  Sandys — Serena 
Sandys — with  a  'y'  of  course?" 


Muffins  and  Alligators          195 

But  Alicia,  if  she  had  an  opinion,  did  not  give 
it. 

"You  remind  me  of  Edward  Volkert, "  she 
said,  laughing. 

"Do  you  mean  old  Mrs.  Epps's  grandson? 
Mrs.  Van  der  Werff  says  he  is  as  crazy  as  a  June 
bug;  but  then  she  says  that  every  one  is  crazy." 

"He  considers  himself  a  born  actor,"  replied 
Alida,  non-committally,  "and  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
he  is  not  right." 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  know  him." 

"That  would  not  be  a  difficult  matter  to 
arrange." 

Serena  became  thoughtful  until  they  had  passed 
the  arches  and  were  crossing  the  Square. 

"Would  it  not  be  a  good  idea,"  she  asked,  "if 
I  should  walk  with  you  to  Mrs.  Ruggles,  and  you 
should  hint  to  Edward  Volkert  to  take  me  home. 
The  streets  in  Mackerelville  are  so  unsafe  after 
dark." 

"I  should  not  mind  asking  him  directly," 
returned  Alida,  doubtfully;  but  the  thought  had 
already  occurred  to  her  that  an  acquaintance 
with  Serena  might  be  better  for  Volkert  than 
that  of  any  of  King  Solomon's  wives. 

Near  the  center  of  Madison  Square  she  stopped 
and  turned  to  look  back. 

There  were  the  garden  lights  through  the 
black  trees ;  the  hansom  cabs  in  silhouette;  the 


196    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

level  plains  of  snow.  Here  was  the  very  bench, 
perhaps,  from  which  a  starving  man,  who  was  to 
win  a  medal  and  a  chateau  on  the  Loire,  had 
started  up  to  meet  St.  Martin  with  his  cloak. 

"For  heaven's  sake  don't  stop!"  Serena  cried, 
catching  her  companion's  arm;  "A  tall  man  in  a 
long,  gray  overcoat  has  been  behind  us  all  the 
way.  He  is  a  gentleman  and  awfully  handsome, 
but  for  heaven's  sake  don't  stop." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
K.  O.  K. 

The  New  Year  started  at  a  rattling  pace. 
From  Wall  Street  to  Longacre,  and  from  Long- 
acre  to  the  Speedway,  everybody  was  agreed  that 
never  had  such  a  steed  lent  mettle  to  the  pneu 
matic  tires  of  time.  Now,  for  a  record,  every 
body  said,  to  start  the  brand-new  century! 

Rumor  had  it  that  B.  J.  Brisbane  would  arrange 
to  consolidate  all  railways  and  pay  all  sharehold 
ers  ten  per  cent,  and  extra  dividends,  perhaps. 
Rumor  had  it  that  a  process  had  been  discovered 
for  developing  power  from  salt  water,  which 
would,  of  course,  be  an  economy.  Rumor  had  it 
that  a  man  had  learned  to  fly  by  the  simple  ex 
pedient  of  lifting  himself  by  the  ears. 

In  Kenilworth  Place  affairs  took  on  the  glamor 
of  their  times.  Doctor  Van  Gaasbeck  increased 
his  prices  until  the  income  that  he  did  not  make 
was  doubled.  Volkert  exchanged  his  flute  for  a 
concertina  to  great  advantage.  Miss  Toll  fell 
heir  to  seven  hundred  dollars  from  an  aunt.  Bell 
sent  a  story  to  a  ten-cent  monthly,  and  Mrs. 
Ruggles  had  the  lower  bathroom  papered. 

As  for  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  she  had  never  been 
197 


198    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

more  popular,  nor  her  company  in  greater  de 
mand.  Society,  which  had  always  treated  her 
well,  seemed  for  the  hour  to  find  her  indispens 
able;  her  gowns  were  copied;  her  sayings  re 
peated;  her  beauty,  family,  grace,  and  general 
excellence  extolled. 

"After  all, "sighed  Miss  Deusenbury  one  day 
at  luncheon,  when  neither  Alida  nor  either  of  her 
relatives  happened  to  be  present,  "after  all,  the 
old  names  count  for  something  still." 

"And  so  does  the  prospective  ownership  of 
K.  O.  K.,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,  buttering 
toast. 

"But  do  you  think  Alida  will  accept  young 
Osterhout?"  Miss  Deusenbury  inquired,  anx 
iously. 

"She  is  much  too  ill-behaved,  I  fear,  to  ever 
get  the  chance,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,  biting. 

But  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  was  not  then  aware  of 
a  scene  that  had  taken  place  behind  the  red  ma 
hogany  doors  before  the  century  was  two  weeks 
old. 

It  happened  on  a  lowering  afternoon  at  four 
o'clock,  too  early  for  the  gas  and  too  late  to  see 
well  without  it.  But  the  parlor  fire  was  for  once 
hospitable,  and  as  Alida  stood  with  one  foot  upon 
the  fender,  and  her  forehead  resting  on  her  hand 
against  the  high,  black  marble  mantelpiece,  the 
shabby  room  looked  comfortable  and  inviting, 


K.  O.  K.  199 

and  Chancellor  De  Vos  beamed  ruddy,  though 
the  Lady  with  a  Rose — attributed  to  Sully — was 
in  shadow. 

Presently  Alida,  hearing  a  step,  raised  her 
head,  and  said,  almost  inaudibly:  "I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you,"  to  Bradish  Osterhout. 

"I  need  not  tell  you  why  I  asked  leave  to  come 
this  afternoon,"  he  began  at  once,  almost  throw 
ing  his  shining  hat  upon  the  red  rep  sofa,  and 
hastily  unbuttoning  his  right  glove.  He  spoke 
with  eagerness,  and,  like  her,  below  his  breath. 
But  his  voice,  a  trifle  harsh  by  nature,  did  not 
lend  itself  well  to  the  modulation,  and  the  im 
petuous  movements  were  made  mechanical  by 
certain  rigid  lines  in  his  attire.  That  he  was  a 
lover  no  one  could  have  doubted — Alida  least  of 
all — but  he  was  a  Frohman  lover,  freshly  creased. 
When  he  said  that  he  need  not  tell  why  he  was 
there,  he  stood  a  moment  in  the  firelight,  waiting 
for  her  to  speak. 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  to  say  that  the  gardener  can 
spare  me  no  more  orchids,"  she  suggested,  in  a 
tone  which  made  the  words  of  small  importance, 
"and  he  is  right,  I  don't  deserve  them." 

Whatever  Mr.  Osterhout  understood  from  this 
speech  was  not  betrayed  by  any  change  in  his 
regular,  well-bred  features,  nor  motion  of  his 
small,  neat  head. 

"You  wrote  me  I  might  come,"  he  said. 


200    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  taking  the  burden  on  her 
self,  "I  wanted  to  see  you  very  much,  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  you  about  the  flowers." 

"To  tell  me  that  they  bored  you?" 

"No,  not  that;  not  that  at  all.  Only  to  thank 
you  for  them  and  to  say  that  you  must  not  send 
me  any  more," 

He  tugged  at  his  glove  nervously,  and  she 
allowed  the  hand  against  the  chimney-piece  to 
drop  beside  her.  Then  he  came  nearer,  so  near 
that  as  they  faced  each  other  across  the  fire  there 
was  but  the  fender's  length  between  them.  He 
wore  the  pin  which  was  the  pennon  of  his  yacht. 
Alida  had  worn  the  pin  herself  on  the  day  when 
the  "Serpent"  won  the  cup,  the  day  Johnny 
Alexander  made  a  stupid  joke — and  the  serpent 
tempted  her. 

"You  are  letting  me  down  easily,"  he  said, 
with  an  unmirthful  smile;  "you  are  being  con 
siderate  of  my  feelings.  Don't  you  know  me 
well  enough  to  leave  that  out?" 

"I  did  not  think  that  you  would  mind  about 
the  flowers,"  she  answered,  disingenuously,  but 
not  with  any  purpose  of  deception.  Whatever 
poor  words  might  come  stumbling  after,  the 
thoughts  of  both  had  gone  on  to  the  end,  as 
light  goes  on,  as  the  unfettered  soul  goes  on 
in  dreams. 

"I  don't  mind  anything  but  tact,"   he  said, 


K.  O.  K.  201 

coming  back  to  dramatize  the  played-out  comedy ; 
"and  I  don't  admit  defeat  until  the  winner 
crosses  the  line.  Then,  I  think  I  know  how  to 
take  my  beating  with  the  rest.  Why  did  you  say 
that  you  were  glad  to  see  me?" 

"Because  I  am,"  she  said,  regarding  him  un 
flinchingly;  "because  I  want  to  be  so  always. 
And  I  want  you  to  be  glad  to  see  me  whenever 
we  meet,  remembering  only  the  good  times  we 
have  had,  and  the  talks.  Oh,  why  not  just 
remember  them  and  go  on  being  friends?" 

"Why  not  remember  them  and  go  on  being 
something  more  than  friends?"  he  urged.  Then, 
lowering  his  voice  until  it  broke  unmusically, 
though  being  from  the  heart  it  had  a  music  of 
its  own,  he  added:  "Do  you  remember  last 
June — that  night  upon  the  yacht?" 

Alida  turned  her  head  to  hide  her  face  in 
shadow. 

"Do  you  remember  what  you  almost  said  when 
we  were  interrupted?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  answered,  hurriedly;  "that 
interruption  saved  us  both." 

"Saved  us,  Alida?" 

She  faced  him  suddenly  as  the  impulse  seized 
her,  looking  full  into  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  saved  us,"  she  repeated.  "Would  you 
like  to  hate  me?  Would  you  like  to  be  thankful 
all  your  life  that  the  cook  fell  overboard?" 


202    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"No,"  he  said,  regarding  her  in  wonder,  "I 
should  not. " 

"But  you  must,"  she  answered,  resolutely; 
"it  is  only  fair.  I  did  not  like  you  much  then. 
Not  half  as  much  as  I  do  now,  but  I  was  going 
to  let  you  think  I  did.  Do  you  understand?  For 
the  sake  of — of  everything." 

"And  can't  you  make  me  think  so  now — for 
the  sake  of  everything — I  shall  not  quibble  over 
reasons." 

"No,  no,  never  that  again!  Please  believe 
that  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  I  think  so  differ 
ently  about  such  things  now." 

"About  a  little  bit  of  money,  I  suppose,"  he 
answered,  bluntly.  "Well,  let  us  eliminate  that. 
If  it  cannot  make  me  any  better  than  I  am,  by 
Jove,  it  cannot  make  me  any  worse." 

"No,"  said  Alida,  earnestly;  "but  it  could 
make  me  worse,  and  it  would  go  on  making  me 
worse  and  worse." 

When  she  broke  off  he  stood  waiting  for  her  to 
explain  herself,  watching  her  curiously,  while  a 
lump  of  soft  coal  in  the  fire  fell  to  pieces,  blazed 
up,  and  sent  their  shadows  capering  on  the  oppo 
site  wall. 

"Mr.  Osterhout, "  she  said  again,  speaking 
slowly,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  flame,  "I  don't 
want  you  to  have  any  illusions  about  me.  Last 
summer  when  you  were  planning  every  moment 


K.  O.  K. 


203 


something  new  to  give  me  pleasure,  I  was  plan 
ning,  too;  I  was  picking  out  the  carriages  I 
meant  to  have,  and  the  people  I  was  going  to 
patronize,  and  the  people  I  was  going  to  cut. 
That  is  a  nice  confession,  is  it  not?  Only  the 
horror  of  the  old  woman,  the  nasty,  purse-proud 
old  woman  that  I  saw  myself  growing  into  year 
by  year,  saved  us.  You  may  not  believe  me, 
but  I  was  too  good  a  friend  to  inflict  her  upon 
you." 

"Alida!"  he  protested,  taking  hope  from  the 
unheard  of  argument,  but  she  went  on  unheed 
ing: 

"If  it  could  have  been  for  a  year,  or  five 
years,  it  would  have  been  different — that  would 
be  such  a  little  part  of  life.  But  it  must  have 
gone  on  and  on  till  we  were  old,  and  afterward 
perhaps  forever  and  ever  and  ever." 

"The  prospect  does  not  frighten  me  in  the 
least,"  said  Mr.  Osterhout,  laughing  for  the  first 
time. 

"But  it  frightened  me,"  returned  Alida,  "and 
it  frightened  me  that  I  could  even  think  of  it. 
People  who  like  each  other  very  much  don't  care. 
That  is  the  one  sure  way  of  telling." 

If  the  quality  of  canvas  had  been  in  question, 
the  test  of  gun  barrels,  Bradish  Osterhout  would 
have  had  an  opinion  and  maintained  it  well.  As 
it  was,  he  answered,  prudently:  "Alida,  let  us 


2O4    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

leave  things  as  they  are  a  little  longer.  You 
like  me  better  than  you  did  last  summer,  and  who 
is  to  say  you  may  not  go  on?" 

"Oh,  no;  let  us  not  do  that !"  she  cried.  "Let 
us  understand -each  other  now.  It  is  not  you, 
indeed,  it  is  not.  It  is  life,  long,  long  life  that 
must  be  as  we  make  it.  I  do  not  know  what  I 
want  mine  to  be,  but  I  do  know  what  I  shall  not 
let  it  be. " 

"You  mean  the  only  life  I  have  to  offer  you?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Alida,  very  softly,  "that  is  what 
I  mean. " 

They  stood  a  little  while  before  the  fire  after 
this.  A  very  little  while  for  two  who  had  come 
near  to  looking  into  many  fires  side  by  side. 
And  then  he  moved  away  and  carelessly  caught 
up  his  shining  hat,  for  he  could  take  his  beatings 
with  the  rest. 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  joining  the  Bradishes 
at  Nice,"  he  said;  "they  are  there,  you  know, 
with  the  Eurydice." 

"You  will  have  a  lovely  time,  I'm  sure,"  she 
answered;  saying  again,  "you'll  have  a  lovely 
time." 

"Good  by,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"Good  by,"  she  said;  "God  bless  you." 

One  other  moment  by  the  fire — the  last.  And 
something  else — the  first  and  last.  But  he 


K.  O.  K.  205 

deserved  better  payment  and  she  did  not  grudge 
him  this. 

He  seemed  not  to  leave  the  dusky  room,  only  to 
fade  into  shadow  out  of  her  life,  he  and  his  yacht 
and  his  automobile  and  his  orchid  house  and 
everything  that  was  his,  even  his  countless 
spindles,  weaving  K.  O.  K.  on  every  piece. 

Miss  Van  Wandeleer  did  not  enjoy  the  opera 
that  evening,  and  she  found  the  conversation  of 
Johnny  Alexander,  who  monopolized  her,  par- 
ticulary  insipid,  and  on  the  following  morning 
she  cut  her  Italian  lesson  altogether.  It  was  not 
until  twenty-four  whole  hours  had  elapsed  that 
an  epistle  from  Bessie  Brisbane  restored  her 
spirits  in  a  measure. 

It  had  been  Miss  Brisbane's  fancy  to  use  her 
father's  Remington,  and  the  pursuit  of  profi 
ciency  had  tempted  unwonted  literary  effort. 
It  ran : 

DEAR  ALIDA: 

Just  think  how  we  have  missed  each  other  since  New 
Year's  Day.  I  thought  this  morning  that  you  might 
venture  out  to  return  one  of  the  several  calls  you  owe 
me,  but  now  the  rain  is  coming  down  for  keeps,  and  I 
have  given  up  all  hope  of  you  or  any  one  else. 

Mama  and  I  escaped  yesterday  and  lunched  at  a 
restaurant — she  loves  to  get  away  from  home  and  eat 
whatever  she  pleases — and  in  consequence  she  has  op 
pression  to-day,  and  I  a  cold. 

Papa's  dinner  is  developing  into  a  barbecue,  and  as  he 


206    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

will  not  adopt  my  suggestion  of  sending  them  in  in  squads, 
I  have  to  fight  for  my  few  poor  little  seats  in  the  middle 
of  the  table.  Last  evening  when  one  of  my  guests  sent 
word  that  he  had  suddenly  been  called  abroad  (to  Europe 
or  some  such  place,  as  'Erbert  would  say),  B.  J.  actually 
appropriated  the  vacant  chair  to  a  protege:  of  his  own, 
a  prairie  product  of  unknown  quantity  who  is  to  fall 
to  me.  I  hope  you  won't  mind  the  diplomat,  no  one 
else  has  him  in  such  complete  control.  For  our  other 
men,  we  shall  have  Leigh-Watkins  and  a  Mr.  Jacob, 
who,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  has  done  something 
quite  remarkable  in  Amalgamated  Cheese.  . 
You  see  your  dinner  before  you!  The  rest  of  the  table 
will  cut  very  little  ice  for  us. 

This  morning  I  have  been  helping  Serena  to  make 
card  catalogues.  When  we  feared  she  might  not  have 
enough  to  do,  we  did  not  know  our  Schepmoes.  She  is 
making  card  catalogues  for  everything  in  the  house,  from 
the  books  to  B.  J.'s  shoes,  and  to-day  she  and  I  together 
devised  a  new  one  to  be  called  "A  Catalogue  of 
Acquaintances  for  the  Newly  Rich."  The  cards  are 
to  be  something  like  this: 

Name  and  address. 

Place  and  date  of  introduction. 

Incidents  of  interest. 

Husband,  if  married. 

Children,  if  any. 

Incidents  of  interest. 

Favorite  topic  of  conversation. 

Fad,  religion,  or  dressmaker. 

Incidents  of  interest. 

We  hope  to  improve  on  this,  and  shall  be  grateful  for 
suggestions,  but  B.  J.  is  most  discouraging.  He  pretends 
to  have  once  presented  a  Guest  Book  to  a  maiden  aunt 


K.  O.  K.  207 

who  honored  him  with  the  first  entry,  and  wrote  under 
"Remarks" — big  appetite — grumpy. 

Uncle  Wenny — dear  old  chap — is  in  Colorado  with  an 
unwilling  nephew  as  a  sort  of  caddy.  He  is  sending  us 
a  caribou  head.  What?  and  why?  Leigh-Watkins 
dropped  in  yesterday.  He  considers  you  sympathetic 
and  high-minded.  Incident  of  interest — a  Martini.  But 

mama  made  him  take  it  to  keep  out  the  cold 

Dear  me!  and  I  meant  to  be  so  tactful. 

Do  come  as  early  as  you  can  on  Thursday,    The 
brougham  will  be  there  by  seven,  with  a  maid  (MacGuffin). 
Faithfully  yours, 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BRISBANE. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  LITTLE  LADLE 

Upon  the  day  of  the  Brisbane  dinner  a  pleasur 
able  flutter  filled  the  breasts  of  the  good  ladies 
in  Kenilworth  Place.  To  be  sure  but  one  of 
their  number  had  been  bidden,  but  this  was  in  a 
way  a  recognition  of  them  all.  The  New  People — 
the  impossible  New  People — were  beginning  to 
understand. 

For  this  was  to  be  no  ordinary  dinner,  as  the 
readers  of  the  morning  newspapers  were  aware. 
The  Bonfire  had  indeed  devised  a  cartoon  com 
memorative  of  the  occasion,  an  octopus  beneath 
a  table,  uplifting  many  tentacles,  each  terminat 
ing  in  a  head  of  one  of  Mr.  Brisbane's  supposed 
guests:  the  Beef  Trust,  the  Cracker  Trust,  the 
Candlestick  Trust.  The  Billion  Dollar  Banquet, 
it  was  called,  and  the  fare  appeared  to  consist 
largely  of  banks  and  locomotives.  Clearly  events 
must  be  impending  when  a  gentleman  of  B.  J.'s 
known  propensities  invites  an  octopus  to  dine. 

At  luncheon,  though  the  company  tried  to 
keep  away  from  it,  the  topic  of  the  Brisbanes 
kept  recurring.  Once  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,  ap 
parently  forgetful  of  the  coffee-spoon  incident, 
208 


A  Little  Ladle  209 

said:  "I  saw  a  photograph  of  their  new  sleigh  in 
a  Sunday  paper.  It  was  really  a  most  surprising 
equipage." 

"Was  it  a  Russian  sleigh  with  streamers?" 
asked  Alida. 

"Yes;  you  have  driven  in  it,  I  suppose?" 

"Only  once  for  a  little  way  in  the  park.  It 
was  very  comfortable." 

"Was  it,  indeed,  my  dear?  But  don't  you 
think  the  real  old-fashioned  ones  more  so? 
I  have  in  mind  a  yellow  one  I  noticed  not  long 
since." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Bessie  sent  Mr.  Love, 
with  violets  for  Alida,  and  a  bulletin  from  the 
center  of  disturbance. 

Miss  Schepmoes,  it  appeared,  had  taken  the 
bit  in  her  teeth.  She  had  rearranged  the  sit 
tings — all  except  six  in  the  middle;  she  had 
upset  the  musical  programme,  and  she  had  coun 
termanded  half  of  the  wines.  She  had,  more 
over,  declared  an  intention  to  herself  reign 
regent  in  the  ante-room  of  service. 

"We  are  prepared  to  see  Serena  in  a  dress  suit, 
personally  conducting  the  canvas-backs,"  Bessie 
wrote. 

Alida's  gown  was  to  be  of  blue  and  silver,  and 
it  was  to  be  everything  that  Bazet  could  make  it. 
For  Bazet  had  taken  in  another  floor  and  was 
paying  off  mortgages  in  the  Borough  of  the 


210    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Bronx.  "Mademoiselle,"  she  had  said,  in  her 
guileless,  Gaelic  way,  "it  would  be  ruin  if  you 
did  not  have  the  most  beautiful  dress  at  the  din 
ner.  Name  of  Deity,  think  of  my  children!" 

And  so,  some  hours  later,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer, 
mindful  of  the  young  Bazets,  rolled  up  the  bril 
liant  avenue  without  a  cloud  as  big  as  a  cab  fare 
to  dim  the  prospect  of  the  evening's  pleasure. 
But  one  small  fly  lurked  in  the  ointment  of  hef 
satisfaction,  and  the  name  of  that  fly  was  Van 
Gaasbeck. 

"There'll  be  a  hot  time  in  the  old  town  to 
night,"  said  Bessie,  nodding  her  approval  in  the 
dressing-room,  while  the  kneeling  MacGuffin 
removed  Alida's  fur-lined  boots.  "You  make 
me  feel  like  a  Canadian  quarter  in  a  bull  market, 
as  papa  says." 

Alida,  thrusting  out  a  small,  blue  foot  to  re 
ceive  its  slipper,  looked  up,  laughing. 

"I  was  going  to  say  something  complimen 
tary,"  she  answered,  "but  I  sh'n't  attempt  to 
compete  with  Mr.  Brisbane." 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  cried  Bessie,  "I  am  suffi 
ciently  conceited;  Schepmoes  said  just  now  that 
I  had  an  air!  An  air;  and  only  Jacob  and  the 
diplomat,  and  Leigh-Watkins  to  breathe  it. 

"But  you  forget  the  cowboy,"  said  Alida,  her 
spirits  rising  as  the  buzzing  of  the  fly  Van  Gaas 
beck  grew  remote.  The  room  was  a  boudoir  of 


A  Little  Ladle  211 

Badrilbadour;  somewhere  down  the  marble  stairs 
musicians  were  tuning  violins  in  a  grove  of  palms ; 
Bessie's  blue  eyes  were  bright  with  their  most 
expansive  "I'll-divide-my-pile-with-you"  expres 
sion,  and  Alida  noted  that,  although  her  pink 
gown  was  worth  a  squire's  ransom,  she  did  not 
wear  a  single  jewel. 

"It  seems  that  he  is  not  a  cowboy  after  all," 
explained  Miss  Brisbane,  seating  herself  upon  the 
arm  of  a  chair;  "but  a  sort  of  Rocky  Mountain 
Moses,  who  used  to  read  Macaulay  to  miners  in 
an  opera  house  to  cultivate  their  ideals;  and  he 
made  them  all  play  Brutus  and  Cassius  instead 
of  keno,  and  they  gave  up  lynching  and  took  to 
Dickens  parties.  I'm  not  quite  sure  about  the 
details,  and  it  don't  sound  very  exciting,  but 
B.  J.  says  it  shows  what  can  be  done.  I  am 
afraid  Jacob  will  have  to  be  my  main  reliance; 
they  say  he  is  musical  when  not  mercenary." 

"And  I  am  to  have  the  clergyman  and  the 
diplomat?" 

"Yes;  church  and  state.  Remark  that  early, 
Leigh-Watkins  is  sure  to  think  of  it.  The  rest 
are  just  assorted  multimillionaires.  I  should  not 
be  surprised  if  the  Anarchists  were  to  take 
advantage  of  the  occasion.  If  you  feel  any 
thing  moving  under  the  table,  don't  scream, 
it  will  be  only  a  Pinkerton  man  in  search  of 
dynamite." 


212    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"How  very  exciting!  We  sha'n't  be  dull  a 
moment." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  There  won't  be  any 
fun  but  what  we  make  ourselves.  I  wonder  if 
Serena  told  them  to  begin  with  that  wedding 
march!" 

"Perhaps  it  is  an  omen,"  suggested  Alida. 

"Then  you  can  have  it,"  returned  Bessie, 
generously. 

The  talk  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a 
large  lady  draped  in  fur  from  head  to  foot.  But 
presently,  under  the  ministrations  of  MacGuffin, 
she  became  a  vision  of  St.  Anthony,  whose 
dreams  were  realistic  for  a  monk.  As  she 
emerged  from  her  outer  covering  one  wondered 
if  there  had  not  been  some  mistake,  but  she  had 
her  limits. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Harris  Fosdick,  the  fat  Mrs.  Fos- 
dick,"  she  broke  forth — even  her  mode  of  speech 
was  cut  a  trifle  low — "and  this  is  Bessie,  I  am 
sure."  But  as  it  happened  she  had  hit  upon 
Alida  for  her  greeting,  and  the  error  being  ex 
plained,  she  said,  with  kindly  patronage,  "Well, 
whoever  you  are,  you're  pretty  enough  to  be 
anybody." 

Miss  Brisbane  made  a  face  behind  the  ample 
alabaster  shoulders.  "This  is  Miss  Van  Wande- 
leer, "  she  drawled. 

"Not  the  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  not  Alida!     I 


A  Little  Ladle  213 

might  have  known  it!  And  you  are  Bessie. 
Bless  my  soul,  you  are  a  pair.  I  pity  the  young 
men  between  you.  Have  a  good  time,  my  dears, 
before  you  get  too  fat." 

Both  girls  looked  modestly  unconscious,  and 
t  other  guests  arriving,  they  slipped  out  unob 
served  and  down  the  stairs  to  where  the  host  and 
hostess  stood  before  the  drawing-room  fire. 

"The  Night  Before  the  Execution,  group  six 
in  catalogue,"  murmured  their  daughter,  feel 
ingly,  and  B.  J.,  springing  forward,  cried:  "Ah, 
the  Princess  Alida.  Permit  me  the  honor — " 
which  honor  consisted  in  drawing  Alida's  hand 
through  his  arm  and  leading  her  to  Mrs.  Bris 
bane,  who  had  lost  a  glove-button  and  didn't 
care.  There  was  a  faint  odor  of  lemon  peel  in 
the  air. 

"Here  is  Miss  Alida,  mama,"  said  B.  J.,  "and 
she  insists  on  going  in  with  the  cleverest  and 
handsomest  man  in  the  room." 

"But,  Ben,  you  have  to  take  in  Mrs.  Fosdick, " 
said  his  wife,  and  thereupon  there  was  mirth  at 
her  expense. 

"Indeed  you  think  yourself  very  smart,"  re 
sumed  the  lady,  pertly;  "I  should  not  have  said 
that  if  there  had  been  another  man  in  the  room." 

"If  any  one  monkeys  with  mama  to-night,  I 
see  his  finish,"  remarked  Miss  Brisbane,  in 
hyperboles. 


214    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  help  us  with  our 
business  men,"  said  Mrs.  Brisbane  to  Alida; 
"but  I'm  afraid  you  may  find  them  hard  to  talk 
to." 

"I'm  rather  good  at  listening, "  said  Alida,  and 
Bessie  put  in,  warningly:  "Don't  do  that.  I 
listened  once  to  Mr.  Fosdick  after  one  of  father's 
dinners.  I  didn't  understand  a  word,  but  fancied 
we  were  getting  on  splendidly,  until  he  ended 
with  'very  truly  yours,  Harris  Fosdick.'  He 
thought  he  had  been  dictating  to  his  type 
writer!" 

Then  other  guests  came  in  quick  succession, 
filling  the  drawing-room  with  the  noise  of  many 
voices  pitched  too  high.  The  men  were  much 
alike,  and  differed  only  in  the  matters  of  weight 
and  whiskers;  keen-eyed  men,  whose  thoughts 
were  a  day  ahead  of  time,  and  to  whom  the  hours 
of  social  life  were  but  blank  spaces  on  a  mighty 
ticker  tape.  The  diplomat,  among  them,  looked 
small  and  foreign,  and  the  Reverend  Leigh-Wat- 
kins,  unsophisticated.  The  women  were  re 
splendent,  but  they  did  not  interest  Alida,  who 
being  twenty,  thought  it  of  small  importance 
what  forty  might  have  on.  As  she  looked  over 
the  assembly  she  saw  that  Bessie  had  not  exag 
gerated  its  possibilities  of  dullness. 

"Let  me  stand  here  by  you  and  watch  the  boys 
turn  green  with  jealousy,"  whispered  B.  J.,  gal- 


A  Little  Ladle  215 

lantly.  Alida  had  never  seen  him  so  effusive  in 
his  greetings  or  known  him  laugh  so  readily. 
His  eyes  were  snapping,  and  when  he  listened  to 
what  was  said  to  him,  he  moistened  his  lips  con 
tinually.  She  wondered  if  he  could  be  nervous 
at  giving  so  large  a  dinner,  but  dismissed  the 
thought  as  improbable.  Then  something  rather 
odd  occurred. 

Mr.  Jacob,  very  slick  and  smooth — Alida  re 
called  a  previous  meeting  with  Mr.  Jacob — 
appeared  before  B.  J.  from  nowhere  in  particu 
lar,  and  said,  without  further  greeting,  the  mys 
tic  words:  "  All  right. " 

"Good,"  said  B.  J.,  "the  whole  crowd  in?" 

"The  whole  caboodle,"  answered  Mr.  Jacob, 
smiling  mystically,  "and  we  got  the  last  at  fifty- 
seven." 

"Good  again,"  said  Mr.  Brisbane  in  the  words 
of  Pumblechook,  "hold  on  to  every  share." 

Alida,  feeling  herself  superfluous,  made  an 
attempt  to  move  away,  which,  though  unsuccess 
ful  in  the  throng,  recalled  her  presence. 

"Hold  on  to  every  share,"  repeated  Mr. 
Jacob. 

"No,  sell  five  hundred  to  Van  Wandeleer, " 
corrected  Brisbane.  Alida,  hearing  her  own 
name,  stood  still. 

"What  initial?"  inquired  the  other,  taking  a 
small  pad  of  paper  from  his  breast  pocket. 


2i  6    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"A.,  "said  Mr.  Brisbane;  "A.  Van  Wandeleer. " 

"Sell  at  to-morrow's  opening?" 

"No,  sell  at  fifty-seven." 

"But  it's  sure  to  open  ten  points  up,  and  it's 
good  for  one  hundred  and  ten!" 

"I  don't  care;  I  have  more  than  I  want." 

"But  five  hundred  is  nothing  at  all,"  protested 
Mr.  Jacob,  incredulously,  and  B.  J.,  laughing, 
said:  "Dear  me,  I'm  forgetting  manners.  Miss 
Van  Wandeleer,  let  me  introduce  my  young 
friend,  Mr.  Jacob.  He  and  I  sometimes  get  up 
practical  jokes.  Will  you  kindly  put  your  initials 
on  this  paper?  Just  O.  K.  and  A.  V.  W." 

Alida,  somewhat  bewildered,  took  the  paper 
and  wrote  as  she  had  been  instructed.  If  there 
was  a  joke  on  foot  she  was  more  than  willing  to 
assist. 

"And  now,"  said  B.  J.,  laughing,  "if  it  should 
happen  to  rain  mush,  the  Princess  will  have  a 
little  spoon,  will  she  not,  Jacob?" 

"A  little  ladle,  we  hope,"  replied  the  smooth 
young  man,  politely. 

"Ben,  Bessie  is  looking  for  you  everywhere," 
said  Mrs.  Brisbane,  who  forgetting  that  she  was 
not  a  guest,  passed  on  the  arm  of  the  Candle 
Stick  Trust. 

"Yes,  it  was  in  the  gallery  of  the  Stock  Ex 
change,"  Mr.  Jacob  was  reminding  Alida,  "and 
Brisbane  called  me  out." 


A  Little  Ladle  217 

"Yes,"  she  assented,  "and  I  was  never  more 
excited  in  my  life.  It  was  like  a  bear  garden." 

"Please  say  a  bull  fight,"  pleaded  the  broker, 
laughing;  "but  I  have  seen  you  at  the  opera 
many  times  since  then."  This  brought  a  milder 
aspect  of  his  nature  to  the  fore,  and  Wagner 
lasted  till  the  diplomat  presented  his  cre 
dentials. 

To  Alida  he  was  a  colorless  little  alien,  who 
had  fallen  to  her  lot  before  at  dinners  and  would 
probably  so  fall  again.  As  he  stood  now  before 
her,  with  his  upright  hair  of  Teutonic  brown,  his 
wide,  Muscovite  mouth,  and  Parisian  mustaches, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  name  at  once  the  friendly 
nation  of  his  origin;  for  as  he  spoke  all 
tongues — including  English — with  a  continental 
accent,  he  might  have  represented  any  one  of 
several.  Popular  belief  held  him  to  prefer  New 
York  climatically  to  Washington,  though  stories 
from  the  capital  city  gave  other  reasons  for  his 
absence. 

"And  now  we  must  speak  French  the  entire 
evening,"  said  Alida,  as  they  moved  away  from 
Mr.  Jacob,  "and  you  may  correct  my  American 
accent." 

"But  I  cannot  think  of  Miss  Van  Wandeleer 
as  an  American,"  he  answered,  with  a  courteous 
bow,  for  this  was  his  most  diplomatic  compli 
ment. 


2i  8     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"It  is  so  nice  in  you  to  say  that.  Those  are 
the  little  things  we  recall  when  international 
differences  arise,"  she  answered,  sweetly;  and 
this  was  as  far  as  sh«  ever  ventured  in  politics. 

"And  who  are  all  these  people?"  he  asked, 
with  an  inclusive  sweep  of  the  assembly.  "I 
have  never  seen  one  of  them  before.  Such 
women!  Ugh!  You  are  a  white  fawn  among 
anecdotes!" 

"Anecdotes?"  she  repeated. 

"Yes,  are  they  not?  B-a-a-a!"  returned  the 
diplomat. 

"Oh,  yes,  nanny-goats!  I  understand.  And 
don't  you  know  them?  Well,  that  one  over  there 
is  our  hostess,  and  the  kid  beside  her  is  her 
daughter,  and  beyond  them  in  black  velvet  is  the 
nanny-goat  at  whose  stable  you  and  I  dined  last 
week." 

"Ah,  that  was  an  evening  I  have  not  forgot 
ten,"  he  whispered,  losing  interest  in  the  com 
pany.  "And  I  scarcely  hoped  to  find  you  here 
to-night." 

Alida  was  never  certain  whether  the  last  words 
were  spoken  by  the  diplomat  or  by  another  or  by 
both  at  the  same  time.  She  only  knew  that  for 
a  moment  the  things  and  people  near  her  faded 
and  grew  indistinct  as  through  falling  snow;  that 
the  music  of  the  violins  became  suddenly  clamor 
ous,  like  the  music  of  bells — like  the  bells  of 


A  Little  Ladle  219 

Trinity.  Storm,  midnight,  and  the  City  of 
Silences  passed  before  her,  and  then  an  old  man 
in  a  yellow  sleigh.  It  seemed  that  she  herself 
had  just  been  speaking,  saying  foolishly  to  some 
one  who  held  her  hand  in  a  great  fur  glove  that 
the  Snow  Queen  did  not  want  to  melt.  Perhaps 
the  fact  of  her  hand  being  held  somewhat  tightly 
in  reality  contributed  to  the  illusion. 

"At  last!"  said  Anthony  Bogardus,  or  that 
was  what  she  thought  he  said,  for  the  procession 
was  forming  all  about  them  with  confusion  of 
tongues,  and  Alida,  who  did  not  like  to  shout, 
looked  up  and  nodded  her  head. 

"But  you  told  me  you  knew  no  one  in  the 
city,"  cried  Bessie,  who  was  close  behind  Bogar 
dus  and  appeared  to  exercise  proprietorship. 

Then  Mrs.  Fosdick — the  fat  Mrs.  Fosdick— 
backed  in  between  them,  to  avoid  some  one  who 
was  backing  into  her.  Finding  herself  within 
confidential  distance  of  another,  the  excellent 
woman  raised  her  fan  to  whisper,  and  as  that 
other  chanced  to  be  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  she 
said:  "I  notice  that  the  Brisbane  girl  selected 
the  best-looking  man  for  herself.  Pitch  in,  my 
dear,  and  cut  her  out!"  It  was  by  such  timely 
hints  that  she  kept  society  from  stagnation,  and 
kept  herself  amused.  But  to  Alida,  humbly  wait 
ing  her  turn  among  the  less  important,  the  words 
suggested  only  a  depressing  dread  lest  she  and 


22o     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Bessie  should  ever,  for  any  cause,  become  less 
good  friends. 

One  skilled  in  the  analysis  of  emotions  might 
have  found  cause  for  uneasiness  in  this  sudden 
fall  from  reason,  but  Alida,  marching  in  to  din 
ner,  speculated  only  whether  the  backs  of 
people's  necks  ever  really  betrayed  their  feelings. 

"This  is  the  first  New  York  house  I  have  ever 
been  in, "  she  heard  some  one  say  behind,  and  she 
wondered,  resentfully,  if  Bella  Ruggles's  estab 
lishment  in  his  eyes  was  not  even  a  house.  With 
a  sudden  inspiration  she  turned  to  the  diplomat, 
speaking  volubly  in  French,  and  he,  growing 
gay  and  gallant,  whispered  something  that  she 
did  not  hear.  Nevertheless  when  Bessie  men 
tioned  snow  she  laughed  aloud,  so  as  not  to  learn 
that  somebody  had  never  been  in  a  New  York 
sleigh. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FEEDING  THE  OCTOPUS 

The  Billion  Dollar  Banquet,  from  Miss  Van 
Wandeleer's  point  of  view,  consisted  of  herself, 
a  gentleman  on  either  side,  and  her  three  oppo 
site  neighbors.  By  certain  movements  of  the 
head  she  could  find  a  vista  between  candles  and 
flowers,  at  the  end  of  which  a  featureless  B.  J. 
discoursed  in  pantomime,  and  in  the  other  direc 
tion  Mrs.  Brisbane  was  in  like  manner  discover 
able.  Sometimes,  borne  upon  a  favoring  breeze, 
she  heard  the  laugh  of  Mrs.  Harris  Fosdick. 
But  these  might  have  been  phenomena  of  a  mere 
Million  Dollar  Banquet,  and  if  the  Octopus  per 
formed  any  interesting  antics  she  missed  them 
altogether. 

During  the  earlier  courses  she  occupied  herself 
pleasantly  in  causing  the  Reverend  Mr.  Leigh- 
Watkins  to  forget  the  existence  of  another  neigh 
bor,  and  in  maintaining  the  diplomat's  attentions 
just  below  'the  danger  point  for  hands  beneath 
the  table-cloth. 

It  was  in  the  sixty  seconds  following  fish — 
Serena's  entree  acts  were  nicely  timed — that  Alida 
received  her  first  reminder  from  Miss  Brisbane, 


222    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

in  the  shape  of  a  Black  Hamburg  bowled  with 
accurate  aim  toward  her  dinner  roll. 

"Are  your  ears  burning?"  inquired  Bessie, 
leaning  forward. 

"No,  not  at  all,"  replied  Alida,  flushing  a 
little. 

"Well,  they  ought  to  be,"  returned  the  other, 
and  Alida  blushed  again,  this  time  not  a  little. 
She  was  sure  that  Bessie's  partner  had  seen  the 
blush,  but  though  the  circumstance  was  most 
annoying,  the  dinner  after  this  took  on  another 
character. 

"Who  is  that  big  fellow  over  there?"  demanded 
the  diplomat,  with  affected  savageness,  and 
receiving  no  response  he  turned  toward  the  lady 
on  his  left,  whom  he  presently  discovered  to  be 
the  possessor  of  a  neck. 

"Have  you  been  reading  anything  interesting 
lately?"  inquired  Alida  of  the  clergyman. 

Mr.  Leigh-Watkins  received  this  evidence  of 
high  mindedness  with  satisfaction.  For  the  lady 
he  had  taken  in  to  dinner  having  lately  made 
submission  to  the  Roman  yoke,  he,  doubtless 
unjustly,  suspected  a  desire  on  her  part  to  burn 
him  at  the  stake.  Serena's  humor  was  at  times  a 
trifle  crude.  Imperfect  knowledge  concerning  the 
nature  of  Johannisberger  had  caused  the  tones 
of  eyebrows  and  mustache  to  become  diffused, 
and  the  official  waistcoat,  worn  in  connection 


Feeding  the  Octopus  223 

with  more  worldly  habit,  seemed  now  an  eccen 
tricity  rather  than  a  badge.  But  as  his  outer 
aspect  acquired  Watkins  his  voice  grew  musical 
with  Leigh. 

"Trash,"  he  replied;  "I  rarely  read  anything 
else.  It  is  my  antidote  for  thought,"  and  paus 
ing  a  moment  to  smile  at  his  own  fancy,  he  added, 
in  a  comfortable  undertone  of  confidence,  "Is  it 
not  a  luxury  sometimes  not  to  think?" 

"It  is  one  I  can't  afford,"  she  answered.  "I 
always  have  to  think,  about  clothes  or  meals  or 
engagements." 

"Those  are  not  thoughts  but  instincts,"  said 
the  thinker.  "Surely  this  must  be  plain  to  you, 
you  who  have  a  soul." 

"Oh,  no,  I  have  not,"  said  Alida;  "I  am  a 
soul  and  have  a  body." 

"That's  good!"  exclaimed  the  other,  warmly; 
"that's  really  very  good.  It  rather  fits  in  with 
a  train  of  reasoning  I  have  in  mind.  I  fancy  I 
can  use  it." 

"I  hope  you  can,"  she  answered,  generously; 
"It's  not  original." 

"Scarcely,  scarcely,"  rejoined  the  preacher, 
with  a  tolerant  smile;  "but  do  you  recall  who 
said  it  first?" 

"No,"  said  Alida,  becoming  thoughtful;  "but 
don't  you  think  it  sounds  a  little  bit  like  Adam?" 

"Roederer,     sir,     please,    sir?"    inquired    the 


224    Tfo  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

seductive  voice  of  a  footman  between  them,  and 
Mr.  Leigh-Watkins  answered,  "Yes,  a  little," 
adding  as  in  extenuation,  "I  find  nothing  so 
refreshing  as  champagne." 

Opposite,  between  Bessie  and  her  companion, 
a  kindred  voice  was  murmuring,  "Roederer,  sir, 
please,  sir?"  and  Alida's  eyes  chancing  in  that 
direction,  encountered  the  familiar  face  of 
Edward  Volkert,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drawn 
down,  his  eyes  expressing  vacuity,  and  his  nose 
slightly  reddened.  But  Alida  had  never  seen  a 
face  so  absolutely  impassive,  and  he  breathed 
his  formula  from  wooden  lips. 

"Roederer,  mum,  please,  mum?" 

As  he  deftly  waved  his  bottle  within  an  inch  or 
less  of  Mr.  Jacob's  ear,  he  bestowed  upon  Alida 
an  unseeing  gaze,  while  his  face  assumed  still 
deeper  lines  of  hopeless  bondage. 

"Oh,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  I  trust  you  are  not 
ill!"  exclaimed  the  clergyman,  dipping  the  corner 
of  his  napkin  in  champagne. 

"Slip  out  with  me  to  the  palm-garden,  the  air 
will  do  you  good,"  whispered  the  urgent  accents 
of  diplomacy. 

"Oh,  it  is  nothing,"  the  sufferer  protested,  "a 
bread  crumb,  that  is  all." 

But  after  this  she  watched  the  flitting  shapes 
of  shadowy  elementals  beyond  the  aura  of  the 
table  with  nervous  apprehension. 


Feeding  the  Octopus  225 

She  saw  him  several  times  again,  with  his 
slightly  reddened  nose  and  ridiculous  drawn  lips, 
and  upon  each  occasion  feared  another  crumb. 
And  presently,  when  the  apparition  faded  alto 
gether,  it  added  nothing  to  her  comfort  to  know 
that  it  was  hovering  behind  her  back. 

"Your  latest  footman  is  quite  perfect,"  she 
told  Bessie  when  next  they  spoke,  and  Miss 
Brisbane,  with  a  look  of  horror,  exclaimed: 
"Great  Scott,  you  don't  mean  Schepmoes!" 

On  being  reassured,  Miss  Brisbane  evidently 
gave  her  neighbors  a  picturesque  version  of  the 
story  of  Serena,  while  Alida  and  the  diplomat 
discussed  a  foreign  literature  of  which  she  knew 
little  and  he  less.  In  confidence  he  told  her  that 
the  lady  of  the  neck  had  invited  him  to  call. 

"But  I  shall  not  do  so,"  he  added,  heartlessly. 

"Were  you  not  going  to  tell  me  something 
about  a  line  of  thought?"  Alida  asked  the  clergy 
man,  when  his  turn  for  notice  came  again. 

Mr.  Leigh-Watkins,  if  he  had  been  silent  for  a 
space,  had  not  been  idle,  and  there  was  a  twinkle 
in  his  brown  eyes  not  in  accord  with  the  appar 
ently  untasted  state  of  his  wine-glass. 

"I  was  about  to  tell  you,"  he  replied,  "of  a 
pamphlet  I  am  writing,  entitled,  'The  Errors  of 
Creation.'  Does  not  the  idea  appeal  to  you?" 

"No,"  said  Alida,  frankly;  "it  strikes  me  as 
very  wicked." 


226    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"You  take  too  low  a  view  of  Providence,  I 
fear,"  he  said,  with  much  solemnity;  "to  me 
there  is  no  hope  but  in  the  mighty  blunders  of 
Omnipotence." 

"How  can  you  say  such  things?"  Alida  cried, 
indignantly. 

Mr.  Leigh-Watkins  moistened  his  lips  with 
Roederer  and  set  down  his  glass,  which  it  might 
have  been  noticed,  became  immediately  full 
again,  while  at  the  same  moment  Alida  fancied 
herself  to  hear,  faintly  and  as  by  long  distance 
telephone,  the  words,  "Edward,  be  silent!"  in 
the  voice  of  Grandma  Epps. 

"Are  not  evolution  and  progression  the  laws 
of  being?"  demanded  Mr.  Leigh-Watkins  in  the 
language  of  his  pamphlet.  "Can  Deity  make 
laws  and  disregard  them?  Shall  the  marching 
universe  in  time  overtake  its  creator?  Shall  it 
pass  him  ultimately,  leaving  him  behind?  Yet 
this  must  come  to  pass  if  he  stands  still;  and  to 
be  incapable  of  error  is  to  be  incapable  of 
advance." 

"If  that  were  true — and  I  don't  believe  it  is — 
there  would  not  be  much  left,"  returned  Alida. 

"There  would  still  be  faith,"  he  answered. 

"Faith  in  what?"  she  demanded. 

"Faith  in  ourselves,"  said  Mr.  Leigh-Watkins, 
meeting  her  eyes,  dreamily;  "faith  in  the  Divine 
light  within  us." 


Feeding  the  Octopus  227 

"I  haven't  any  light  in  me,"  replied  Alida, 
"not  a  glimmer." 

Mr.  Leigh-Watkins  laughed  a  mocking  laugh 
and  sipped.  "We,  all  of  us,  have  that  within  us 
which  we  least  suspect,"  he  said,  oracularly.  "I 
may  think  myself  strong,  and  yet,  who  knows? 
You  think  yourself  a  butterfly,  light,  careless, 
gay,  and  yet  I  can  believe  you  capable  of  a 
supreme  self-sacrifice.  I  can  see  you  under  the 
impulse  of  a  strong  emotion  hesitating  at  nothing, 
nothing." 

He  smiled  and  watched  the  bubbles  in  his 
glass,  as  though  they  gave  him  further  insight 
into  Alida's  desperate  character,  and  they  were 
very  active  bubbles. 

"I  can  think  of  you  as  Joan  of  Arc,"  he  went 
on,  contemplatively,  "as  Constance  De  Bev 
erly — " 

"I  wish  you  would  not,"  said  Alida,  who  if 
she  must  be  thought  of,  preferred  that  it  be  in  a 
golf  skirt  at  the  least.  "I  assure  you  I  am  not 
at  all  like  either." 

He  leaned  his  head  against  the  high  back  of 
his  chair  and  looked  upon  her  dreamily  with  half- 
closed  eyes. 

"Tell  me  what  you  are  like,"  he  murmured; 
"tell  me  of  yourself,  your  hopes,  and  fears.  Tell 
me  what  the  world  has  been  to  you.  Tell  me 
what  you  see  before  you." 


228    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  think  it  is  terrapin,"  said  Alida;  "don't  you 
love  it?" 

"Love!"  he  repeated,  bitterly;  "you  speak 
profanely,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer. " 

"You  would  not  think  so,"  was  her  answer, 
"if  you  had  ever  been  in  Baltimore." 

Mr.  Leigh-Watkins  winced  as  if  with  pain. 

"Don't,"  he  pleaded,  holding  up  a  warning 
hand;  "don't  spoil  a  golden  moment  such  as 
this.  Though  you  may  never  know  what  love 
can  be,  though  you  may  never  feel  its  anguish 
and  its  fire — " 

"I  hope  I  shall  not,"  said  Alida;  "it  does  not 
sound  at  all  attractive." 

She  spoke  gayly,  and  with  the  animation  that 
made  most  people  at  a  table  wish  their  seats 
were  nearer,  but  in  her  dread  of  what  Watkins — 
Leigh  had  been  bad  enough — might  say  next,  she 
would  have  welcomed  a  moderate  earthquake,  or 
a  mutiny  among  the  cooks.  Instinctively  she 
shot  one  swift,  appealing  glance  across  the  table, 
not  toward  Bessie,  who  was  talking  to  Mr.  Jacob 
and  wore  an  expression  of  such  refined  absorp 
tion  that  Alida  guessed  her  subject  to  be  music; 
not  to  the  absurdly  correct  gentleman,  who  kept 
his  head  inclined  attentively  toward  the  thin  lady 
at  his  side,  and  his  eyes  on  people  who  were  not 
thinking  of  him  at  all;  but  to  some  one  who  had 
come  to  her  before  when  she  was  cold  and  lonely, 


Feeding  the  Octopus  229 

and  had  cared  for  her  and  taken  her  safely  home. 
He  would  understand  if  he  were  anywhere  within 
a  thousand  miles — and  he  did  understand. 

"Mr.  Watkins,"  said  Bogardus,  leaning  for 
ward,  after  a  nod  to  the  thin  lady  which  showed 
her  to  be  included  in  the  new  discussion,  "have 
you  seen  the  article  on  thought  transference  in 
the  current  number  of  the  Psychic  Research  Jour 
nal?" 

"Some  one  is  speaking  to  you,"  Alida  told  her 
neighbor,  who  thus  admonished,  answered 
shortly  in  the  negative. 

"Oh,  you  should  not  miss  it,"  went  on  Bogar 
dus;  "it  shows  how  we  can  become  aware  of  the 
exact  impression  we  are  making  on  our  hearers, 
a  matter  of  great  importance  to  the  clergy,  I 
should  think." 

"It  is  not  the  sort  of  thing  I  am  interested  in 
at  all,"  replied  the  minister,  attacking  his  terra 
pin,  savagely,  and  there  was  a  provoking  little 
silver  butterfly  upon  Alida's  shoulder  that  seemed 
to  shake  with  merriment. 

This  broke  the  way  to  general  conversation, 
and  as  the  Octopus  had  now  grown  sportive  it 
was  possible  to  talk  across  the  table  without 
exciting  undue  notice.  Every  one  was  talking 
across  the  table.  Everywhere  formality  was 
relaxed.  The  grapes,  when  tired  of  posing, 
dropped  down  and  rolled  upon  the  cloth.  The 


230    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

candles  cocked  their  shades  to  one  side  and  did 
not  care  what  happened. 

"And  how  is  Bell?"  Bogardus  found  an  oppor 
tunity  to  ask,  and  Alida,  laughing,  assured  him 
of  Miss  Ruggles's  health. 

"And  when  is  she  to  marry  Van  Gaasbeck?" 

"How  do  you  know  they  are  to  be  married?" 

"He  told  me  so." 

"Doctor  Van  Gaasbeck?" 

"Yes,  he  mentioned  it  last  time  I  called  on 
him — for  a  tonic.  He  has  given  me  four  since 
New  Year's  Day." 

Alida,  who  received  this  information,  outwardly 
at  least,  unmoved  by  sentiments  of  pity,  allowed 
several  seconds  to  elapse  before  turning  her 
attention  to  her  plate,  which  like  all  the  Bris 
bane  plates,  was  well  worth  a  close  inspection. 
When  she  again  looked  up,  Bessie  was  exhibiting 
a  dinner  card,  whereon  Mr.  Jacob  had  sketched 
a  public  character  in  seven  lines.  Mr.  Jacob 
always  had  a  pencil. 

This  feat  inspired  the  others  to  attempts  at 
simple  entertainment  with  the  means  at  hand. 
Alida  assayed  a  devil  having  a  black  Hamburg 
for  a  head,  and  would  have  met  with  less  success 
but  for  a  still,  small  voice  behind  her  chair,  which 
whispered,  "Use  salted  almonds  for  the  horns." 

Bogardus,  with  inverted,  colored  glasses, 
showed  how  gamblers  in  the  West  deceived  their 


Feeding  the  Octopus  -231 

dupes,  and  the  diplomat  obligingly  amputated 
his  own  thumb.  Then  Bessie,  in  default  of  other 
accomplishments,  was  given  two  minutes  to  im 
provise  a  toast,  with  this  result: — 

"  Here's  to  early  friends,  and  late  friends, 

And  a  new  friend  every  minute! 
Here's  to  any  old  thing  that  fate  sends 
So  long  as  we  are  in  it." 

The  effort  was  not  one  of  Miss  Brisbane's  best, 
but  the  young  people  drank  it  laughing,  and 
Leigh-Watkins,  observing  his  glass  to  be  full, 
made  a  mistake  and  drank  it  twice. 

With  the  ices  came  a  new  diversion,  emanating 
from  the  fertile  brain  of  Miss  Serena  Schepmoes. 

Upon  each  individual  pyramid  of  spun  sugar 
reposed  an  article  of  silver,  which  upon  inspec 
tion,  proved  symbolically  appropriate  to  its 
recipient.  Banks  for  the  bankers;  oil  barrels  for 
the  illuminati;  steamships  for  those  who  go 
down  into  the  sea  by  proxy,  until  it  seemed  as 
though  the  Bonfire  cartoon  had  been  prophetic, 
although  the  pleasure  of  the  Octopus,  in  its  toys, 
suggested  rather  a  sudden  transition  from  a  bil 
lion  dollar  banquet  to  a  children's  tea  party. 

Alida's  token  was  a  Dutch  windmill.  Bogar- 
dus  received  a  cow-bell  of  practical  dimensions; 
Leigh-Watkins  an  alms  basin  almost  large  enough 
for  St.  Jude's  the  Obscure;  the  diplomat  a  pro 
jectile  labeled  Peace;  Miss  Brisbane  a  cat  sug- 


232    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

gesting  amusingly  impossible  contingencies,  and 
Mr.  Jacob  a  cheese,  presumably  amalgamated. 

"We  don't  deserve  a  particle  of  credit,"  Bessie 
protested,  in  reply  to  many  compliments;  "Ser 
ena  Schepmoes  thought  of  everything  herself." 

"Then  I  shall  live  in  the  hope  of  one  day  meet 
ing  Serena  Schepmoes,"  declared  Mr.  Jacob, 
unmindful  of  the  disapproving  visage  of  a  red- 
nosed  footman. 

Later,  in  the  great  square  hall,  whither  the 
company  had  trooped  in  discreet  disorder,  Alida 
found  herself  near  Mrs.  Fosdick. 

"Come  over  here,  my  dear,  and  sit  by  me," 
began  that  lady,  affably;  "I  don't  believe  in 
bothering  men  when  they  are  smoking.  The 
old  way  of  shutting  them  up  together  was  much 
the  best — poor  Harris  never  hears  a  story  worth 
repeating  any  more.  Is  not  my  cigarette  case 
fetching?  Thank  heaven  for  cigarettes!  And 
what  is  your  favor?  A  mill?  Good  gracious! 
don't  let  your  cap  go  over  it,  my  dear!" 

Alida's  knowledge  of  slang,  though  large,  did 
not  extend  beyond  the  native  product.  But 
though  the  point  of  Mrs.  Fosdick's  merry  jest 
remained  obscure,  she  thought  the  fat  lady  most 
objectionable. 

"I  should  like  to  find  Mrs.  Brisbane,"  she 
remarked,  casting  a  searching  eye  about  her,  but 
Mrs.  Fosdick  said,  still  amiably:  "Oh,  no,  you 


Feeding  the  Octopus  233 

want  to  get  away  from  me,  and  so  you  shall,  my 
dear,  when  I  am  through  with  you.  Tell  me  if 
Bradish  Osterhout  has  really  gone  abroad." 

"I  have  heard  so,"  said  Alida,  stiffly. 

"Why,  then,  it's  true!"  the  other  cried  in 
exultation. 

"Yes,  I  believe  he  sailed  on  Wednesday." 

"I  don't  mean  that,  I  mean  the  story." 

"I  did  not  know  there  was  a  story,"  said 
Alida,  making  a  movement  to  escape,  which 
Mrs.  Fosdick  intercepted. 

"Oh,  then  you  must  let  me  tell  it  to  you,  it  is 
too  delicious,"  she  insisted.  "Of  course  I  shall 
not  mention  names,  but  there  was  a  girl — about 
your  age,  my  dear — to  whom  he  has  been  sending 
orchids  all  winter — in  boxes — you  know  how  they 
come.  And  only  last  week  he  sent  her  one,  with 
the  cutest  little  note.  'Wear  these  to-night  for 
my  sake,'  but,  my  dear,  there  had  been  some 
mistake,  for  when  she  came  to  open  the  box, 
there  lay  a  suit  of  K.  0.  K. " 

Alida  turned  and  hurried  through  the  nearest 
door,  her  only  wish  that  every  step  should  take 
her  further  from  the  fat  Mrs.  Fosdick. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GREEN  MINT 

In  the  rose  room  Alida  discovered  Mr.  Leigh- 
Watkins,  who  did  not  smoke,  seated  in  the  center 
of  a  circle  of  ladies  who  disliked  the  smell  of 
smoke,  and  from  a  sentence  overheard,  she 
divined  the  reverend  gentleman  to  be  making 
hay. 

"My  thought  is  terra-cotta, "  he  was  saying. 

She  did  not  join  the  conference,  for,  however 
charitably  disposed  toward  trifling  lapses  on  the 
part  of  one  thrown  so  much  with  ugly  girls,  she 
detested  terra-cotta. 

Beyond  the  rose  room  lay  the  room  of  Flem 
ish  tapestries,  where  she  had  heard  from  Mr. 
Brisbane  the  story  of  his  pictures;  the  mountain 
tunnel,  and  St.  Martin  of  Madison  Square.  Here 
she  came  upon  many  of  the  guests,  a  clear  major 
ity  of  the  men,  and  of  honorable  women  not  a 
few,  scattered  in  standing  groups,  though  invit 
ing  seats  were  in  abundance,  while  the  air  grew 
sweet  with  coffee  and  the  faint  incense  of  good 
tobacco  newly  lighted. 

In  a  distant  corner  two  had  found  a  resting 
place;  the  diplomat  and  she  of  the  neck,  who 
234 


Green  Mint 


23  £ 


had  also  in  the  interval  developed  arms.  Aside 
from  these  and  Mr.  Brisbane,  Alida,  for  the  mo 
ment,  saw  no  one  of  her  acquaintance. 

B.  J.  stood  near  the  door  by  which  she  had 
come  in,  in  company  with  two  of  his  guests. 
One  was  a  white  gentleman;  white  of  hair  and 
pointed  beard  and  shirt  front  and  tie  and  studs 
and  waistcoat;  so  colorless,  indeed,  was  he  that 
Alida,  whose  habit  was  to  generalize,  called  him 
at  once  the  Double  Blank.  The  other  being 
beady-eyed  and  broad  of  beak,  she  called  the 
Swallow  for  convenience.  It  would  not  have 
pleased  these  pillars  of  society  had  they  known 
of  this,  but  it  might  have  afforded  them  matter 
for  reflection. 

Brisbane  was  in  the  act  of  demonstrating  some 
interesting  fact  upon  the  polished  surface  of  a 
Flemish  table,  where  lay  the  nucleus  of  Bessie's 
collection  of  bindings — which  would  probably 
remain  a  nucleus.  And  he  had  piled  the  books 
together  as  though  they  had  been  blocks  of  wood. 

"There,"  he  explained,  sliding  a  vellum  cover 
across  the  board,  "that  is  San  Francisco,  and 
here  (he  slid  another  cover  in  the  opposite 
direction),  here  is  New  York.  That  statuette — 
Mercury,  I  believe — can  represent  Chicago,  which 
completes  the  triangle.  Problem:  to  prove  the 
two  sides  longer  than  the  base." 

"I  do  not  question  that  the  straight  line  is  the 


236    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

shorter,"  declared  the  Double  Blank,  and  the 
Swallow  said:  "My  point  is  that  your  apex  hap 
pens  to  be  Chicago.  We  can't  ignore  Chicago." 

"If  we  can't,"  answered  Mr.  Brisbane,  "we 
leave  the  way  clear  for  the  man  who  can." 

"Brisbane,"  said  the  Double  Blank,  regarding 
Bessie's  bindings,  thoughtfully,  "it  may  seem  an 
odd  question  at  this  late  day,  but  what  is  it  that 
you  expect  to  accomplish  ultimately?" 

"I  expect  to  cross  the  continent  in  fifty  hours. 
In  fact,  I  mean  to  do  so." 

"Whew!"  said  the  Swallow,  "how  are  you 
going  to  do  it,  flying  machine?" 

"No,"  replied  Brisbane,  "by  the  ordinary 
market  locomotive,  if  I  can't  do  better.  If  there 
is  nothing  to  frighten  a  man  in  sixty  miles  an 
hour  for  five  hours,  why  should  there  be  in  keep 
ing  it  up  for  fifty?" 

"Good!"  cried  the  Swallow;  "go  ahead,  but 
give  me  time  to  sell  out  before  your  first  train 
starts." 

"And  the  present  weak  spot  in  the  chain  is — " 
began  the  Double  Blank,  but  B.  J.  interrupted — 

"The  weak  spot  is,  a  link  that's  missing  alto 
gether,"  he  admitted,  frankly;  "The  Big  B. 
crowd  is  holding  out  for  Transcontinental  at  the 
market  price,  share  for  share,  theirs  at  fifty- 
seven  to  ours  at  a  hundred  and  ten,  and  we  shall 
be  lucky  to  pull  through  at  that." 


Green  Mint  237 

"Whew!"  said  the  Swallow  again,  "suppose 
the  market  were  to  break?" 

"The  market  must  not  break.  That's  your 
end." 

"Mine?" 

"Yes,  yours  and  Fosdick's  and  the  others. 
Some  of  us  gather  cherries  and  others  hold  the 
ladder — even-Steven. " 

"We  must  see  what  can  be  done,"  observed 
the  Double  Blank,  and  the  others  seemed  to  find 
this  observation  most  amusing,  while  B.  J.  threw 
the  binding  down  as  though  to  end  discussion. 

Alida  had  been  vacillating  between  St.  Martin 
and  the  door,  uncertain  whether  to  regain  the 
hall  by  advance  or  retreat. 

"Come,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,"  exclaimed  the 
host,  catching  sight  of  her,  "come  and  save  us 
from  the  shop;  we  are  talking  of  our  shoelaces 
like  three  old  peddlers." 

"Another  daughter,  I  presume,"  remarked  the 
Double  Blank,  who  never  listened  to  what  did 
not  interest  him,  and  who  disapproved  of  daugh 
ters  as  a  class.  But  the  Swallow,  who  was  a  man 
of  greater  tact,  remarked  that  there  could  not  be 
too  many  Brisbanes,  and  while  the  matter  was 
being  explained  a  servant  brought  a  tray  of  little 
cups. 

"I  presume  you  are  fond  of  golf  and  tennis  and 
such  things,"  said  the  Double  Blank,  severely, 


238    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

and  Alida  meekly  pleaded  guilty.  Then  the 
Swallow  asked  if  she  resided  in  New  York.  To 
her  reply  that  the  Van  Wandeleers  had  been 
metropolitan  for  the  best  part  of  three  centuries, 
he  flippantly  rejoined:  "Whew!  that  must  have 
been  before  the  ark!" 

"No,"  said  Alida,  feeling  reproof  incumbent 
upon  her,  "only  just  before  the  Golden  Calf." 

"By  the  way,  do  you  remember  what  I  told 
you  of  the  tunnel  picture?"  asked  Mr.  Brisbane, 
in  a  lower  tone,  which  gave  the  others  an  oppor 
tunity  to  resume  Big  B.  between  themselves,  but 
before  Alida  could  reply,  a  trifling  interruption 
occurred. 

"Cigarettes,  mum,  please,  mum?" 

Mr.  Brisbane,  catching  sight  of  a  binding  he 
had  dropped,  stooped  to  pick  it  up  himself,  while 
Alida  took  advantage  of  the  moment  to  whisper, 
"Edward  Volkert,  if  you  do  not  stop  this  in 
stantly,  I  will  give  you  away." 

"Most  ladies  likes  the  cork-tipped  best,"  he 
said,  respectfully.  "They  takes  'ome  boxes  to 
the  children." 

A  moment  later  he  pressed  his  wares  upon 
B.  J.,  whom  he  feigned  not  to  recognize. 

"Better  take  a  'andful,  sir,"  he  said,  "most  of 
the  gentlemen  does." 

Other  guests  came  up  to  exchange  pleasantries 
with  their  host,  and  to  admire  his  ornaments  and 


Green  Mint  239 

pictures,  and  presently  Alida  found  herself  the 
center  of  a  court.  But  her  customary  court  in 
numbers  only,  and  she  missed  her  jester,  Johnny 
Alexander,  and  neither  was  she  yet  accustomed 
to  not  expecting  Bradish  Osterhout. 

Miss  Van  Wandeleer  was  tired  of  standing,  and 
more  than  tired  of  the  generation  which  knew 
not  Joseph,  and  the  face  of  one  whose  mother 
had  attended  Fulham  Priory,  when  it  appeared, 
was  a  satisfaction  in  itself. 

"I  believe  that  somebody  is  about  to  sing," 
said  Anthony  Bogardus,  "either  Tannhauser  or 
Tristan,  who  has  been  liberated  on  parole  and 
must  go  back  to  Broadway  and  die  in  fifteen 
minutes." 

"Oh!"  cried  the  others,  in  a  chorus,  "How 
delightful!" 

"Shall  we  go?"  asked  Alida,  when  they  were 
alone,  as  her  companion  showed  no  disposition 
to  conduct  her  to  the  music-room. 

"If  you  wish  it,"  he  replied;  "but  I  hoped  you 
might  agree  with  me  that  Wagner  without  an 
orchestra  is  too  much  like  pretzels  without  beer." 

"But  I  am  very  fond  of  Wagner,"  she  pro 
tested. 

"And  I  of  pretzels,"  he  rejoined,  and  added, 
simply,  "Please  don't  go,  I  have  been  walking 
for  a  full  half  hour.  There  never  was  a  house, 
I'm  sure,  that  contained  so  many  rooms." 


240    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  should  like  to  sit  down  for  a  moment,"  she 
admitted.  "Have  you  been  looking  at  the 
rooms?" 

"No,  only  looking  in  them,  and  I  should  have 
been  still  looking  had  it  not  been  for  the  butler, 
or  footman,  or  whatever  his  exalted  state  may 
be,  whom  you  sent  to  find  your  fan.  He  very 
kindly  asked  me  if  I  had  it,  which  brought  about 
confidential  relations." 

"How  stupid  of  him,"  she  commented.  "Did 
you  notice  that  his  nose  was  red?" 

"Yes,  very  red.  Do  you  know  where  this 
trail  leads?" 

"Oh,  only  to  another  room  and  to  the  palm- 
garden  beyond." 

"I  have  never  seen  a  palm-garden,"  he  said; 
"please  take  me  to  it." 

"No,"  she  replied,  "for  if  you  have  never  seen 
one  you  must  have  illusions.  In  reality  they 
smell  of  flower-pots,  and  there  is  generally  water 
on  the  floor.  Come  and  I  will  show  you  the  most 
uncomfortable  seat  in  the  house." 

But  when  they  reached  the  high,  gilded  sofa, 
where  she  had  heard  the  story  of  the  tunnel, 
Bogardus  found  for  her  a  foot-stool  and  a  cush 
ion.  For  himself  he  chose  a  low  chair,  from 
which  he  could  look  up  to  her  enthroned,  and  the 
sense  of  being  taken  care  of  brought  back  a  vivid 
memory  of  the  yellow  sleigh. 


Green  Mint  241 

"And  so  you  have  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Doctor  Van  Gaasbeck?"  she  said,  bestowing  her 
self  comfortably. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  wanted  to  hear  the  sequel,  and 
doctors  can't  keep  people  out,"  he  answered,  as 
though  the  ruse  were  quite  excusable.  "I  could 
not  think  of  any  other  way." 

"And  he  confided  to  you  his  sentiments  for 
Bell?" 

"No,  not  at  once.  I  spoke  of  Trinity,  on  New 
Year's,  and  as  it  happened,  he  had  been  there. 
It  was  all  natural  enough.  Our  confidences  did 
not  get  as  far  as  Mr.  Aukes. " 

"Oh,  was  not  Mr.  Aukes  amusing!"  exclaimed 
Alida,  in  time  to  make  it  clear  that  the  ex-alder 
man  was  responsible  for  her  laugh.  "Do  you 
remember?" 

Bogardus  did  remember  the  speech  which  she 
recalled,  and  mentioned  another  in  his  turn  which 
she  remembered  very  well ;  and  presently  they 
were  following  Bowerie  Lane  again  foot  by  foot, 
from  the  Kissing  Bridge  to  Vauxhall. 

Alida  confessed  to  him  how  she  had  stolen  out 
with  Bell,  which  part  of  the  expedition  the  doctor 
had  omitted  mention  of.  Now  that  he  knew  Van 
Gaasbeck  the  whole  affair  could  be  made  clear. 
Of  Volkert  she  explained:  "He  is  a  boy  I  have 
known  all  my  life.  He  only  does  such  foolish 
things  because  he  is  young.  His  father  was  a 


242    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

distinguished  lawyer,  and  he  is  studying  law  quite 
seriously." 

"Green  mint,  mum,  please,  mum?" 

The  interrupter  was  the  red-nosed  footman 
who  had  sought  the  fan. 

"No!"  cried  Alida,  with  alarming  vehemence. 
"No,  no,  no!  Go  away  at  once  and  don't  come 
back!" 

The  footman's  wooden  face  relaxed  into  a  grin, 
and  seating  himself  deliberately  at  the  further 
end  of  the  high  sofa,  he  crossed  his  legs  and 
rested  his  tray  of  liquors  on  his  knee. 

"I  can't  keep  this  thing  up  another  minute," 
he  said,  pleadingly,  "and  what's  more  I  don't 
want  fifty  cents." 

"Mr.  Bogardus,"  said  Alida,  sitting  erect, 
"this  is  Edward  Volkert.  I  don't  know  how  he 
ever  got  here,  but  he  has  all  the  evening  been 
masquerading  as  a  footman,  and  nearly  driving 
me  insane.  Please  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do?" 

"Oh,  you  are  not  responsible,"  said  Volkert, 
cheerfully;  "just  let  me  rest  a  moment  and  I'll 
be  off."  To  Bogardus  he  added,  "If  you  don't 
mind,  sir,  I  should  like  to  return  you  your  tip. 
There  was  no  fan,  of  course,  I  only  wanted  to  do 
you  a  good  turn.  Don't  mention  it." 

"Mr.  Volkert,"  said  Bogardus,  who  seemed  to 
have  grasped  the  situation  readily,  "will  you 
accept  a  bit  of  well-meant  advice?" 


Green  Mint  243 

"No,"  answered  Volkert,  "I  am  rather  over 
stocked  with  well-meant  advice,  as  Miss  Van 
Wandeleer  will  tell  you." 

"Perhaps  you  will  like  mine  better.  Don't  go 
on  studying  law;  your  talents  lie  in  quite  another 
direction." 

"That  is  not  advice,"  said  Volkert,  "that  is 
good  sense.  You  do  not  happen  to  know  the 
direction,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  other,  seriously,  "I  know  it 
well,  for  I  have  traveled  the  road  myself,  but  it 
will  take  you  a  long  way  from  Trinity  and  the 
Chinese  army." 

Alida,  though  greatly  interested,  cast  anxious 
glances  toward  the  door,  through  which  the 
notes  of  German  music  came  floating,  modified 
by  Flemish  tapestry. 

"Edward,  would  you  mind  standing  up  to 
talk?"  she  said. 

"Or  better  still,  come  and  see  me  at  the  Hol 
land  House,"  Bogardus  suggested.  "I  mean 
business,  I  assure  you." 

"All  right,"  assented  Volkert,  springing  to  his 
feet,  and  not  averse  to  a  postponement.  "Have 
a  mint  on  me?" 

Thus  another  interest  grew  up  between  them,  a 
flexible  concern  for  the  career  of  Edward  Volkert. 

"I  should  be  so  thankful  if  you  would  talk  to 
him,"  she  said. 


244    Tfie  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  hope  it  may  result  in  more  than  talk,"  he 
answered. 

Then  their  thoughts  turned  again  to  their  own 
affairs,  to  the  eternal  inquiry  of  youth — you  and 
I — how  stand  we  in  the  horoscope  of  life,  in  trine 
or  square  or  opposition? 

The  crystals  on  her  dress  had  reminded  him  of 
snowflakes  all  through  dinner.  She  had  not 
been  very  much  surprised  to  see  him;  people 
were  sure  to  meet  a  third  time,  it  was  only  the 
second  meeting  that  there  was  ever  any  doubt 
about.  He  had  known  Brisbane  in  the  West, 
and  their  encounter  had  been  accidental. 
They  agreed  that  B.  J.  was  a  most  interesting 
man. 

"The  last  time  he  and  I  dined  together,  it 
was  at  my  house,"  he  told  her.  "We  had  bacon 
and  potatoes,  and  in  the  evening  made  milk 
punches.  I  remember  his  kneeling  by  the  fire  to 
improvise  a  nutmeg  grater  with  a  nail,  a  ham 
mer,  and  a  piece  of  tin.  It  was  as  good  a  nut 
meg  grater  as  you  ever  saw." 

"Where  was  your  house?"  she  asked  him,  with 
her  eyes  upon  the  tunnel  picture;  "in  the  moun 
tains?" 

"Yes,  ten  miles  from  any  other." 

"But  was  it  not  a  difficult  place  to  get  milk?" 
she  suggested,  with  a  little  laugh  that  seemed 
uncalled  for,  "or  did  you  have  a  cow?" 


Green  Mint  245 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  had  a  cow.  It's  quite 
a  complicated  story,  but  I  had  a  cow." 

"An  Alderney?" 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  regarding  her  suspi 
ciously,  "it  was  an  Alderney,  and  a  most  intelli 
gent  and  interesting  animal.  She  understood 
everything  I  said  to  her." 

Leaning  back  against  her  cushion,  Alida 
laughed  again  with  satisfaction  in  her  own  acute- 
ness. 

"How  very  remarkable!"  she  said;  "did  you 
ever  try  reading  Browning  to  her?" 

"Naturally,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "and  there 
were  several  passages  at  which  she  always  ceased 
to  chew." 

"Tell  me  more  of  your  establishment,"  she 
commanded,  trying  to  outdo  him  in  solemnity. 

"I  won't,"  he  answered,  shortly,  "not  another 
word." 

"But  you  ought  to,"  she  protested;  "we  are 
going  to  be  acquaintances  now,  and  I  should 
know  something  of  what  you  have  been  doing  all 
your  life." 

"My  life,"  he  answered,  "began  with  the  new 
century  as  the  clock  struck  twelve." 

Beyond  the  tapestries  there  was  a  sound  of 
clapping  hands,  and  Alida,  rising,  said:  "The 
singing  is  over  and  we  must  all  be  going 
home." 


246    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Do  you  think  there  is  a  chance  of  your  being 
lost  in  the  snow  soon  again?"  he  asked. 

"If  it  should  happen,"  she  rejoined,  touching 
the  butterfly  upon  her  shoulder  to  make  certain 
of  that  lively  insect's  well-being,  "you  may 
expect  a  telephone  from  the  Stray  Child  depart 
ment.  Meanwhile,  if  you  should  care  to  see  me 
in  the  nursery,  my  mother  is  at  home  on  Thurs 
day  afternoons." 

Bogardus  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  come  yet,"  he  said ;  "I  must  be  some 
body  first — I  don't  care  who,  but  somebody — 
don't  you  understand?" 

"Yes,"  said  Alida,  recalling  painfully  the 
effect  of  his  present  name  upon  her  relatives,  "I 
think  I  do,  but — "  here  she  held  out  her  hand — 
"I  hope  it  will  be  soon." 

"Meanwhile,"  he  went  on,  keeping  the  hand  a 
moment  in  both  of  his,  "will  you  promise  to  let 
me  know  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do — about 
Volkert  or  any  one  else?" 

She  looked  toward  the  door  as  though  anxious 
to  be  gone. 

"I  ought  not  to  promise  that,"  she  answered, 
hurriedly. 

"I  think  it  would  be  safe  enough,"  he  urged; 
"the  contingency  is  so  remote." 

"Well — "  she  hesitated. 

"Please  promise;  it  is  not  much  to  ask." 


Green  Mint  247 

"I  promise,"  she  said,  softly,  and  when,  for  a 
fraction  of  a  second,  their  eyes  had  met,  she  was 
gone. 

In  the  Brisbane  brougham,  homeward  bound, 
Alida  wondered  if  it  could  have  been  possible  to 
mention  Miss  Bogardus  of  Fulham  Priory  without 
betraying  Cousin  Caroline's  aversion  to  the  name, 
and  she  was  glad  that  she  had  not  tried.  She 
smiled  also  to  recall  that  he  had  once  read 
Browning  to  a  cow;  but  she  dismissed  the  mem 
ory  of  her  promise  altogether. 

One  other  occurrence  of  the  Billion  Dollar 
Banquet  remains  to  be  recorded. 

"Beg  pardon,  miss,"  said  Mr.  Love,  as  he 
held  open  the  carriage  door,  "but  would  you  be 
so  kind  as  to  tell  me  how  high  Big  B.  will  sell?" 

"Big  B. !"  she  repeated,  in  surprise,  "why  I 
think  I  heard  it  would  sell  at  one  hundred  and 
ten." 

"Thank  you,  miss,"  said  Mr.  Love,  bringing 
his  fingers  to  his  hat  brim,  and  Mr.  Moneypenny, 
bending  from  the  box,  said  also:  "Thank  you, 
miss." 

Perhaps  this  incident  may  be  of  value  when 
the  origin  of  the  great  house  of  Moneypenny  & 
Love  is  under  discussion. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AN  INSTRUCTION  IN  FITS 

"Upon  my  word,  this  must  be  the  January 
thaw,"  observed  Mr.  Ruggles,  looking  out  for 
the  tenth  time  from  the  dining-room  window  on 
the  dreary  rectangles  of  back  yards,  sad  with 
slush,  and  for  the  fifth  time  repeating  his  obser 
vation  with  unimportant  variations.  "Seems  like 
old  times  to  have  a  January  thaw,  don't  it,  Miss 
De  Wint?  You  and  I  can  remember  when  it 
came  along  as  regularly  as  the  collection  for 
Home  Missions." 

Miss  De  Wint  assented,  it  being  her  turn 
to  assent  as  four  other  ladies  had  before 
assented. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  following  the  Brisbane 
dinner,  and  the  rain  outside  beat  sharp  staccato 
notes  on  every  resonant  surface,  to  the  accom 
paniment  of  mental  leaders  gurgling  dismally. 

The  Ruggles  household  was  assembled  in  the 
dining-room  where  the  light  was  best,  and  through 
the  open  red  mahogany  doors  the  drawing-room 
looked  gloomy  and  deserted.  A  Sabbath  calm 
presaging  naps  was  in  the  atmosphere,  though 
Van  Gaasbeck,  near  a  window,  held  a  book,  and 
248 


An  Instruction  in  Fits          249 

Miss  Toll  assorted  small  envelopes  with  the 
assiduity  of  one  who  plays  a  game  of  patience. 

Edward  Volkert,  ever  the  most  wakeful,  occu 
pied  the  dinner-table  with  the  many  supplements 
of  a  Sunday  paper,  which  he  rustled  continually; 
and  from  time  to  time  he  read  aloud  such  items 
as  he  thought  of  general  interest. 

"Hello!  listen  to  this,"  he  said,  smoothing 
before  him  a  column  headed,  "Wall  Street  Gossip 
of  the  Week."  "'The  Billion  Dollar  Banquet 
Bears  Fruit.'  That  maybe  good  sense,  but  it 
sounds  queer!  Now  we  may  learn  something  of 
Miss  Van  Wandeleer  and  the  Octopus.  'Wild 
rumors  current  in  the  street  for  several  days 
gave  place  to  equally  extravagant  assertions  yes 
terday.  These  came  too  late  to  have  a  marked 
effect  upon  the  short  Saturday  session,  but  unless 
some  unusually  stiff  denials  should  be  forthcom 
ing,  the  Monday  opening  will  be  watched  with 
interest.  It  was  admitted  freely — almost  too 
freely,  perhaps — by  those  possessing  inside  infor 
mation,  that  the  greatest  railway  deal  of  history 
had  gone  through.  No  less  than  twenty  roads  are 
said  to  have  signed  a  protocol,  the  terms  of  which 
are  cheerfully  indefinite.  Of  course  the  moving 
spirit  in  this  new  Arabian  enchantment  is  our 
respected  fellow  townsman,  Ben  Jonson  Bris 
bane,  to  whom  be  credit  given.  And  that  no 
element  of  picturesque  similitude  be  lacking,  it 


The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

is  further  declared  that  a  certain  Billion  Dollar 
Banquet,  with  which  the  public  has  been  stuffed 
to  surfeit,  was  eaten  to  celebrate  the  final  burial 
of  a  gross  of  hatchets. 

"  'On  the  other  hand,  we  are  told  that  Uncle 
Horace  has  declared,  with  characteristic  candor, 
that  the  Big  B.  can't  be  bought.  Which  leaves 
the  conservative  investor  in  a  position  to  keep 
on  guessing. '  ' 

"Ah,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Ruggles,  who  still 
thought  fondly  of  the  sums  he  might  have  made 
if  he  had  only  been  on  the  other  side  of  the  mar 
ket  in  times  past.  "A  man  could  make  a  fortune 
easily  if  he  only  knew  whether  Brisbane  was 
going  to  control  Big  B. " 

"But  he  is,"  protested  Alida,  "I  heard  him 
say — ' ' 

"Alida,"  cried  Cousin  Caroline,  "I  have  no 
idea  of  what  you  are  talking,  but  if  you  must 
associate  with  stock-brokers  at  least  you  need  not 
be  an  eavesdropper." 

"I  did  not  think  of  that,"  Alida  declared,  in 
confusion. 

"Oh,  let  her  tell!"  protested  Volkert.  "Come 
Doctor,  let's  get  hold  of  her  and  torture  her; 
you've  got  a  pincers  in  your  pocket,  haven't 
you?" 

"What  is  that  you  are  going  to  do,  Edward?" 
demanded  Grandma  Epps,  who  had  been  dozing. 


An  Instruction  in  Fits          251 

"Oh,  only  pull  out  a  few  of  Miss  Van  Wande- 
leer's  teeth." 

"You  mustn't  do  it,  Edward,  I  forbid  it," 
murmured  Grandma  Epps,  relapsing  into  slum 
ber. 

"Well,  that's  the  only  thing  that  saved  her," 
Volkert  said,  resignedly.  "Here  is  all  about  the 
party  in  another  place,"  and  again  turning  to 
the  paper,  he  pretended  to  read:  "  'The  dresses 
of  the  ladies  were  unique,  and  all  paid  for:  Miss 
Lidy  Van  Wandeleer  wore  blue  stuff  .and  span 
gles;  ornaments,  a  heart  upon  the  sleeve;  Miss 
Betsy  Brisbane,  watermelon  pink  with  black 
seeds;  Mrs.  Harrie  Fosdick,  a  purple  skirt — the 
waist  was  out  of  sight;  Mr.  Edward  Volkert,  a 
dress  suit  hired  for  the  occasion  at  great  ex 
pense — '  ' 

"Edward,"  murmured  Grandma  Epps,  "be 
silent!"  which  admonition  was  obeyed  until  the 
entrance  of  Bell  a  moment  later. 

"There  was  a  wild  report  on  'Change  that  you 
had  gone  to  Sunday  school,  and  all  the  heathen 
were  selling  short,"  he  said,  as  Bell  closed  the 
door. 

"I  changed  my  mind,"  she  answered,  laugh 
ing,  for  since  New  Year's  night  Bell  laughed 
much  more  easily  than  before,  and  Volkert's 
standing  had  materially  improved  with  certain 
members  of  the  household.  Perhaps  it  was  a 


252    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

coincidence,  but  Bell's  change  of  mind  had  come 
to  her  after  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  had  ascended 
for  her  nap. 

Presently,  one  by  one,  all  the  elders  as 
cended  or  descended,  and  the  four  young  people 
were  alone. 

"I  suggest  that  Doctor  Van  Gaasbeck  read 
aloud  to  us,"  said  Alida.  "I  am  sure  his  book 
looks  suitable  and  improving." 

"I  am  afraid  it  would  not  interest  you,"  re 
turned  the  doctor,  flushing  slightly;  "it  is  just  a 
book  of  travel  lent  me  by  a  patient." 

"In  what  country?"  asked  Alida,  with  interest. 

"Oh,  in  the  West,"  he  answered,  thrusting 
down  the  book  beside  him.  "It  is  not  at  all  well 
written." 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  very  interesting," 
persisted  Alida,  who  had  of  late  developed  a 
faculty  for  adding  two  and  two.  "The  West  is 
so  full  of  resources." 

"Especially  horned  cattle,"  suggested  Volkert, 
absently,  through  his  paper. 

"One  need  not  go  near  where  they  are,"  said 
Alida,  overlooking  a  rather  obvious  two;  "I  mean 
the  mountain  part  where  the  scenery  is  beautiful. ' ' 

"I  wish  we  could  all  go  there,"  sighed  Bell, 
though  the  "all"  was  prompted  largely  by  polite 
ness.  "I  wish  that  we  were  anywhere  but 
here." 


An  Instruction  in  Fits          253 

"We  don't,  do  we,  Alida?"  exclaimed  Volkert, 
sweeping  the  supplements  to  the  floor  and  spring 
ing  to  his  feet.  "We  like  the  merry  tinkle  of  the 
mandolin,  we  like  to  be  in  touch  with  great 
events." 

Crossing  to  the  mirror  he  stood  a  moment 
arranging  his  hair,  and  when  he  turned,  a  surpris 
ing  metamorphosis  had  taken  place. 

"How  is  this?     Anything  like?"  he  asked. 

His  lips  were  drawn  together  in  an  expression 
of  firm  determination;  his  brow  had  taken  on 
new  lines,  and  upon  his  forehead  lay  the  long, 
black  curl  of  the  dollar  mark.  The  suggestion 
of  Mr.  Brisbane  was  so  strong  that  Alida  cried 
at  once:  "How  wonderful!  I  could  almost 
believe  that  Mr.  Brisbane  were  standing  there 
himself!" 

"Really!"  said  Bell,  with  interest,  and  Van 
Gaasbeck  wiped  his  heavy  glasses  for  a  better 
view. 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  Volkert  declared,  much 
gratified,  and  impelled  to  further  efforts.  "Wait 
till  I  work  it  up  a  little.  Now  watch  me  do  the 
president  in  full  view  of  the  audience." 

"Oh,  that  is  immense!"  the  doctor  cried,  in 
unfeigned  admiration,  and  Bella  Junior  clapped 
her  hands  in  honor  of  the  president. 

"Coquelin  in  'L'Aiglon,'  "  announced  Volkert, 
and  behold!  Coquelin  appeared. 


254    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

After  this  he  gave  other  imitations  of  celebri 
ties,  and  ended  by  drawing  in  his  lips,  and  other 
wise  contorting  his  features  till  they  all,  with  one 
accord,  cried:  "Grandma  Epps!" 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  said 
Alida,  laughing  in  spite  of  herself,  and  Bell  said, 
"You  should  be  on  the  comic  stage." 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  admitted  the  come 
dian,  with  a  wink  toward  Alida,  "but  true  art 
there  is  not  appreciated.  Why,  Doctor,"  he  con 
tinued  to  Van  Gaasbeck,  "there  is  a  fellow  at 
the  Cosmopolitan  who  brings  down  the  house 
every  night  by  having  a  fit,  and  I  don't  believe 
he  knows  what  a  real  fit  looks  like." 

"He  should  take  a  turn  in  our  emergency 
ward,"  replied  the  doctor;  "we  do  them  there 
most  scientifically." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  went  on  the  realist. 
"Now  tell  me,  did  you  ever  see  a  fit  like 
this?" 

As  Volkert  finished  speaking,  his  neck  ap 
peared  to  lose  its  stiffness,  his  head  dropped 
forward  on  his  chest,  his  mouth  fell  open,  and 
his  eyes  turned  up  until  the  whites  alone  were 
visible,  while  with  his  fingers  bent  he  clawed  the 
air. 

"Stop  that  this  instant!"  cried  Alida  and  Bell 
together,  and  Volkert  stopped. 

"Is  that  like  any  fit  you  ever  saw?"  he  asked. 


An  Instruction  in  Fits          255 

"Not  in  the  least,"  replied  the  doctor,  frankly, 
adding  with  professional  nicety.  "By  a  fit  we 
generally  mean  epilepsia  gravior,  which  is  com 
monly  preceded  by  a  scream  or  cry,  due  to  the 
convulsive  action  of  the  muscles  of  the  larynx. 
If  the  patient  is  standing  he  immediately  falls, 
and  often  sustains  serious  injury.  Unconscious 
ness  is  complete,  and  the  muscles  are  in  a  state 
of  tonic  contraction.  The  head  is  turned  by  a 
series  of  jerks  to  one  or  other  shoulder,  the  eyes 
roll  wildly,  the  teeth  are  gnashed  together, 
and  the  tongue  and  cheeks  are  often  severely 
bitten." 

"If  you  attempt  to  do  anything  of  that  sort, 
I'll  leave  the  room,"  said  Alida  to  the  come 
dian,  and  Bella  added  to  Van  Gaasbeck,  "If 
you  tell  him  any  more,  I'll  never  speak  to  you 
again." 

"All  right,"  acquiesced  Mr.  Volkert,  amiably; 
"much  obliged,  Doctor,  for  the  tonic  contrac 
tions.  If  permitted  I  would  do  a  fit  from  Fit- 
ville,  but  as  it  is,  I  will  now  give  you,  by  request, 
an  imitation  of  a  gentleman  going  out  into  the 
rain."  Turning  up  his  trousers,  he  left  the  room 
not  to  return. 

"I  am  sorry  for  that  boy,"  said  Bell;  "he 
does  not  appear  to  have  the  least  ambition,  and 
I  am  afraid  he  must  know  the  queerest  sort  of 
people." 


256     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  replied  Alida,  recalling 
Mr.  Rooney. 

After  this  Van  Gaasbeck  offered  to  read  "The 
Blessed  Damozel,"  if  Bell  would  produce  Ros- 
setti,  and  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  retired  to  write 
the  letter  enjoined  by  tact. 

Alida's  bedroom  was  at  the  end  of  a  hall  and 
next  to  one  larger  occupied  by  Mrs.  Van  Gaas 
beck.  As  she  passed  that  lady's  door,  it  opened 
slightly  and  closed  again  with  what  sounded  like 
a  click  of  satisfaction,  for  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck 
was  still  upon  the  minaret,  though  with  a  face 
set  resolutely  in  the  wrong  direction. 

It  rained  again  on  Monday,  but  Alida,  suitably 
protected,  went  to  Jefferson  Market  with  Bell, 
whose  suddenly  developed  interest  in  practical 
matters  had  made  her  much  more  companionable 
of  late.  In  the  spirit  of  adventure  they  pursued 
their  way  a  little  into  Greenwich,  where  attracted 
by  a  placard,  they  inspected  a  vacant  flat.  It 
was  a  purposeless  proceeding,  and  entailed  un 
necessary  steps  on  the  part  of  a  worthy  German 
janitor,  but  Bell  regarded  it  seriously;  and  as 
Alida  saw  how  wistfully  her  eyes  took  in  the 
meager  details  of  small  dingy  rooms,  and  cold, 
ill-smelling  closets,  she  thought  that  if  she  were 
Providence,  Bessie  Brisbane  should  have  one 
dress  the  less  and  Bell  her  flat. 

"I  do  not  like  this  paper  very  much,"  said 


An  Instruction  in  Fits          257 

Bell,  pretending  to  weigh  the  question  of  ten 
ancy  in  her  mind,  and  the  janitor  assured  her 
that  a  year's  lease  would  entitle  her  to  choose 
another. 

"Really!"  said  Bell,  "how  very  nice.  I  should 
choose  something  striped  to  make  the  ceilings 
higher." 

They  talked  of  the  flat  all  the  way  home,  and 
Alida  made  some  excellent  suggestions.  "Of 
course  it  is  all  years  and  years  away,"  said  Bell; 
"but  you  know  things  do  happen  that  one  doesn't 
expect." 

"Always,"  replied  Alida,  with  conviction. 

That  afternoon  the  newspaper  boys  made  an 
unusual  clamor  with  the  evening  editions,  and  at 
dinner  the  table  learned  from  Edward  Volkert 
that  Wall  Street  was  in  a  frenzy  of  excitement. 
The  great  Transcontinental  deal  had  not  been 
denied,  and  stocks  were  flying  up  and  down  as 
the  effect  for  good  or  ill  became  apparent.  Big 
B.  had  led  the  dance,  climbing  to  altitudes  before 
unsealed.  Fortunes  were  tossed  about  like  bales 
of  straw.  Millionaires  were  penniless,  and  office 
boys  drove  home  in  cabs.  And  about  the  facts, 
the  great  American  reporter  wove  garlands  of 
his  own  untrammeled  fancy. 

Alida  borrowed  the  papers,  and  tried  to  glean 
from  them  what  B.  J.'s  position  in  the  tumult 
might  be.  But  while  one  journal  held  strongly 


258    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

that  Brisbane  and  his  kind  were  fitting  subjects 
for  the  electric  chair,  the  other  spoke  of  him  as 
a  benefactor  to  humanity.  It  seemed  clear,  how 
ever,  from  both  accounts,  that  Bessie  could  now 
have  a  regiment  of  men  in  fur,  and  a  Russian 
sleigh  for  each,  if  so  disposed. 

It  was  like  a  fairy  tale,  this  narrative  of  poor, 
and  presumably  deserving,  persons  elevated  to 
sudden  opulence,  and  Alida  pursued  the  reading 
of  it  until  she  was  left  in  the  dining-room  alone. 
It  was  there  that  Mary  brought  a  letter  from  the 
late  delivery. 

The  letter  seemed  at  first  a  strange  composite 
of  a  circular  and  a  bill,  and  Alida  read  it  through 
twice  before  its  true  significance  dawned  upon 
her.  In  text  it  ran : 

Miss  A.  VAN  WANDELEER: 

Dear  Madam — In  compliance  with  instructions,  we 
have  this  day  sold  for  your  account  and  risk  five  hundred 
shares  of  Big  B.  common  stock  at  seventy-seven,  as  per 
statement  inclosed.  As  we  understand  it  to  be  your 
wish  to  close  your  account  with  this  transaction,  we  take 
pleasure  in  handing  you  herewith  our  check  for  balance 
to  your  credit. 

Trusting  to  be  favored  with  your  further  valued 
orders,  we  beg  to  remain, 

Very  truly  yours, 

JACOB  &  SANDERSON, 
(Inclosure  $9,869.50.)  Per  J. 

The  check  inclosed  was  of  a  pretty  pink. 


An  Instruction  in  Fits          259 

Alida's  first  thought  was  that  somehow  in  the 
mad  lottery  of  which  she  had  been  reading,  a 
prize  had  fallen  to  her,  just  as  prizes  had 
fallen  to  the  office  boys  who  rode  home  in  cabs. 
If  blessings  were  descending — if  it  were  raining 
mush,  as  B.  J.  had  expressed  it — but  when  the 
sequence  reached  Mr.,  Brisbane,  the  mystery 
solved  itself,  and  Jacob  grew  at  once  distinct 
from  Sanderson. 

B.  J.  had  played  his  little  joke,  but  Alida  was 
not  sure  whether  to  be  amused  or  not.  Perhaps 
it  was  true  that  the  smooth  Mr.  Jacob  had  done 
something  for  her  account  and  risk;  and  perhaps 
again  it  was  only  B.  J.'s  way  of  making  her  a 
present.  It  would  be  pleasant  to  have  nearly 
ten  thousand  dollars  of  one's  own  if  rightly  come 
by;  but  it  would  be  another  matter  to  receive 
donations  under  cover  of  commercial  phrases. 

Alida  wished  heartily  that  she  had  some  one  to 
advise  her,  but  it  must  be  some  one  who  would 
understand  the  circumstances;  some  one  who 
knew  Brisbane;  some  one  whose  judgment  she 
herself  could  trust  implicitly.  And  there  was 
but  one  person  in  whom  all  these,  conditions  were 
fulfilled. 

Having  reached  this  conclusion,  Miss  Van 
Wandeleer  wisely  determined  to  relieve  herself 
of  further  anxiety  by  making  it  irrevocable.  She 
rang  the  messenger  call  and  wrote  a  note,  and 


260    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

when  the  messenger  arrived  she  sent  him  with  it 
to  the  Holland  House.  It  was  a  short  note  and 
a  formal;  as  formal  as  a  note  might  be  which 
distinctly  suggested  a  meeting  at  the  Metropoli 
tan  Museum,  at  the  given  hour  of  half  past  three 
the  following  day. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  BURDEN  OF  NINEVEH 

As  the  north-bound  Madison  Avenue  car 
emerged  from  the  tunnel  at  Fortieth  Street, 
Alida,  from  the  window,  noted  the  station  clock, 
which  is  always  fast,  to  indicate  ten  minutes  past 
the  hour.  And  this  being  the  time  which  she 
wanted  it  to  be,  she  composed  herself  for  two 
more  brown-stone  miles. 

Outwardly,  she  differed  little  from  any  other 
young  lady  of  an  upper  Madison  Avenue  car  at 
three  P.  M.,  who  happens  to  possess  a  gray  cos 
tume,  new  undressed  gloves,  a  Bazet  hat,  and  a 
spotted  veil,  and  her  mental  attitude,  in  spite  of 
her  errand,  was  not  a  study  in  psychology. 

Miss  Van  Wandeleer  seldom  allowed  herself  to 
do  injustice  to  her  intuitions  by  seeking  reasons 
to  sustain  them,  holding  such  a  course  unworthy, 
like  questioning  the  sincerity  of  her  friends,  like 
admitting  possibility  of  error  in  her  conception 
of  herself  or  of  her  race.  To  her,  conventions, 
commandments,  and  sanitary  regulations,  excel 
lent  institutions  in  themselves,  would  have  no 
reason  for  existence  upon  a  planet  peopled  solely 
by  Van  Wandeleers. 

261 


262    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Once  only  between  Kenilworth  Place  and  the 
Assyrian  Gallery  did  she  falter,  hesitate,  experi 
ence  the  twinges  of  regret,  and  this  upon  the 
very  threshold  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum. 
She  had  forgotten  that  Tuesday  was  not  a  free 
day. 

"I  am  afraid  this  was  rather  a  difficult  place 
to  find,"  she  said  to  Anthony  directly,  when  one 
step  into  the  Assyrian  Room  had  brought  her 
face  to  face  with  him,  "but  I  thought  as  you 
would  be  sure  to  come  here  sooner  or  later,  it 
would  not  be  so  much  of  an  imposition." 

"Oh,  I  had  planned  to  devote  this  afternoon 
to  the  Museum,"  he  said. 

"Before  you  received  my  note?" 

"Oh,  long  before." 

Alida  suspected  this  to  be  untrue  in  letter,  but 
the  story  of  his  hour  already  passed  in  research 
seemed  more  probable,  for  he  had  checked  his 
overcoat  and  bought  a  catalogue,  which  made 
his  presence  there  seem  much  less  prearranged. 

"You  reached  home  safely  the  other  evening, 
of  course?"  he  asked,  neither  indifferently  nor 
with  too  great  concern.  Aside  from  his  old  way 
of  taking  everything  for  granted — her  friendship, 
his  right  to  serve  her,  their  unquestionable  un 
derstanding  each  of  the  other — the  meeting 
might  have  been  an  accident. 

"I  have  been  rather  puzzled  about  something 


The  Burden  of  Nineveh         263 

connected  with  that  evening,"  she  began,  dis 
carding  the  preamble  she  had  arranged;  "not 
Edward  Volkert,  but  something  else." 

"To  me  it  was  a  puzzling  evening  altogether," 
he  said,  laughing.  "I  know  very  little  of  soci 
ety — almost  nothing — but  I  am  sure  no  one  but 
B.  J.  Brisbane  could  have  given  such  a  party. 
When  I  left,  the  clergyman  was  asleep  in  an  arm 
chair  and  Tannhauser  had  come  back  for  supper. 
You  must  excuse  me  if  I'm  not  sufficiently  sur 
prised." 

"Mine  is  a  long  and  complicated  story,"  said 
Alida. 

"Then  let  me  recommend  my  backless  bench," 
he  answered. 

The  bench,  which  was  in  an  alcove  surrounded 
upon  three  sides  by  great  fragments  of  an  Assy 
rian  frieze,  afforded  a  convenient  public  privacy 
where  conversation  might  range  at  will  from 
sentiment  to  human-headed  lions.  It  was  a  spot 
where  one — or  two — might  spend  an  hour  or  a 
day  without  exciting  comment. 

"Now,  to  begin  with,"  said  Alida,  when  they 
were  seated,  "you  must  read  this,"  and  she  pro 
duced  the  broker's  letter  from  her  muff. 

' '  Rather  gratifying,  I  should  say, ' '  he  remarked 
in  comment,  after  mastering  the  contents  with 
surprising  rapidity. 

"And  here  is  the  check." 


264    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  don't  think  that  a  very  safe  way  to  carry 
valuable  documents,"  he  said,  laughing,  as  he 
took  the  small  pink  paper,  now  slightly  crumpled. 
"You  see  a  certified  check  is  almost  like  money." 

"Oh,  I've  been  very  careful,"  she  explained; 
"I've  kept  it  folded  in  my  glove." 

He  listened  with  attention  as  she  told  the  few 
circumstances  of  B.  J.  's  joke,  and  of  her  own  sur 
prise  at  its  result,  and  when  she  asked  if  it  were 
possible  for  Messrs.  Jacob  and  Sanderson  to  have 
done  anything  for  her  account  and  risk  to  pro 
duce  so  much  money  in  so  short  a  time,  he  said: 
"Yes,  yesterday  it  could  have  been  done  easily. 
You  were  but  one  of  a  great  number  who  hap 
pened  to  be  in  luck.  I  fancy  Brisbane  must  be 
richer  by  a  million  or  so." 

She  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  folding  the 
pink  check  smaller  without  knowing  what  she 
did,  her  eyes  upon  the  human-headed  lions  of 
the  frieze,  leaving  him  at  liberty  to  make  small 
discoveries;  that  she  wore  a  miniature  golf  club 
in  her  back  hair;  that  her  muff  was  preserved 
from  falling  by  a  braided  cord  about  her  neck; 
that  the  gray  thumb  smoothing  the  check  was 
like  an  infant  mouse.  He  might  have  learned 
further  that  her  eyelashes  touched  her  veil,  or 
noticed  the  little  wisp  of  warm  hair  across  a 
small,  pink  ear,  but  perhaps  he  had  observed 
those  things  before.  When,  presently,  she 


The  Burden  of  Nineveh         265 

turned  to  him  again,  it  took  him  a  perceptible 
fraction  of  a  second  to  recall  what  they  had  been 
speaking  of. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  go  on,"  she  said,  help 
lessly;  "I  don't  know  how  to  make  you  under 
stand  exactly  what  my  difficulty  is." 

"Perhaps  I  am  not  as  stupid  as  you  think,"  he 
answered.  "Let  me  tell  you  a  parable.  There 
was  once  a  man,  out  West  of  course — and  by  the 
way,  the  story  is  impossible — a  man,  who  having 
no  money  to  gamble  with,  went  into  a  faro  bank 
to  look  on  at  the  game.  As  it  happened,  at  the 
moment  of  his  arrival  at  the  table,  a  ray  of  sun 
light  fell  through  a  knot-hole  in  the  roof  directly 
on  a  certain  card,  making  a  round  bright  spot 
the  exact  size  of  a  silver  dollar.  Now  the  dealer, 
mistaking  this  for  a  bet,  went  on  to  deal,  and  as 
the  newcomer  had  apparently  won  he  was  paid 
several  material  dollars.  The  sequel  was  natu 
rally  a  fabulous  fortune,  won  from  no  other  ven 
ture  than  a  sunbeam." 

"Just  like  mine,"  Alida  suggested,  thought 
fully. 

"Only  as  far  as  the  first  investment  goes,"  he 
answered.  "My  man  was  thoroughly  dishonest, 
while  your  good  luck  is  yours  by  every  right." 

"Every  right?" 

"Yes,  every  legal  right." 

"But  I  had  no  money  either." 


266     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Mr.  Brisbane  became  your  surety,  and  as  he 
knew  just  how  things  were  to  go,  he  took  no 
risk." 

"Why  did  he  do  so,  do  you  think?" 

"Through  pure  good  will,  let  us  say.  He 
would  be  capable  of  that;  I  have  known  him 
willing  to  do  much  more  for  a  man  who  had  no 
claim  whatever  upon  him." 

"A  man  who  showed  him  where  to  make  a 
tunnel?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  laughing;  "I  forgot  that 
that  must  have  been  a  part  of  the  cow  story." 

"Ah,  I  remember  now,"  she  cried,  seeing  her 
way  with  sudden  clearness.  "And  you  refused 
to  profit  then  by  his  good  will!" 

"That  was  a  business  matter,"  he  protested, 
flushing  slightly;  "I  had  been  paid  already  on 
my  own  terms.  I  could  not  take  what  I  had  not 
earned.  The  two  cases  are  not  at  all  alike." 

"How  do  they  differ?"  she  demanded,  looking 
at  him,  fixedly. 

Though  his  lips  were  parted  for  a  ready  answer 
he  changed  his  purpose  suddenly,  and  asked : 
"Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  my  real  opinion?" 

"If  I  had  thought  you  would  not,"  she  an 
swered,  "I  should  never,  never  have  asked  you  to 
come  here." 

"But  suppose  I  should  tell  you  not  to  keep 
that  check?" 


The  Burden  of  Nineveh         267 

"Then  I  should  only  be  sure  that  I  had  been 
right  myself  from  the  first,"  she  answered,  reso 
lutely,  and  carefully  unfolding  the  pink  paper  she 
as  carefully  tore  off  the  signature  of  Jacob  San 
derson,  naively  confident  that  thus  might  credit 
balances  be  disposed  of. 

As  she  looked  up  half  roguishly  through  her 
spotted  veil,  as  a  child  who  has  with  malice  afore 
thought  destroyed  its  toy,  he  said :  "I  don't  think 
you  will  ever  be  sorry  for  that." 

"Indeed  I  shall,"  she  answered.  "I  am  sorry 
now,  and  I  shall  be  sorry  whenever  I  want  one  of  a 
thousand  things  I  always  want  and  cannot  afford. 
But  fortunately  I  shall  now  have  some  one  else  to 
blame." 

"Me?"  he  inquired,  rather  liking  the  idea. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "whenever  I  have  to  go 
without  anything — I  suppose  some  people  would 
consider  that  ingratitude." 

She  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  lowered  voice, 
for  a  visitor  had  come  into  the  alcove — an  old, 
loud-breathing  gentleman,  whose  coat  was  wrin 
kled  in  the  back.  He  scanned  the  human  lions 
heads  with  care,  as  though  he  hoped  to  find 
among  them  the  portrait  of  a  friend.  And  as 
each  examination  brought  a  louder  breath,  the 
others  assumed  a  disappointment.  But  all  they 
ever  really  knew  of  him  was  that  his  coat  was 
wrinkled  in  the  back.  When  he  had  gone  on, 


268     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

breathing,  Anthony  asked:  "Would  you  be  very 
much  offended  if  I  were  to  call  you  a  brick?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  she  answered,  laughing. 
"Am  I  really  a  brick?" 

"Unquestionably  you  are — a  brick." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Alida,  holding  out  her 
hand,  because  he  appeared  to  expect  this  recog 
nition  of  his  compliment.  But  she  withdrew  it 
almost  instantly,  whispering:  "Here  comes 
another!"  and  they  composed  themselves  to  a 
renewed  study  of  Assyrian  lions. 

"Richard!"  spoke  a  voice  behind  them,  "Rich 
ard  Van  Gaasbeck!  What  brings  you  here?"  and 
the  voice  was  unmistakably  that  of  Mrs.  Bruyn 
Van  Gaasbeck.  There  had  always  been  a  small 
minority,  lax  in  principle,  who  had  found  excuses 
for  the  late  Bruyn  in  his  taste  for  leading  ladies. 

"Oh!"  cried  Alida,  standing  up,  and  her  com 
panion,  recognizing  a  minor  catastrophe,  rose 
also.  But  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,  deserted  wife 
and  doting  mother,  was  first  of  all  a  woman  of 
the  world. 

"Why,  dear  Miss  Van  Wandeleer!"  she  ex 
claimed,  in  amiable  surprise,  "I  had  no  thought 
of  seeing  you  here.  You  must  forgive  me,  really. 
I  was  to  meet  my  son  with  his  cousin — Lucy 
Strong  from  Boston — here  this  afternoon.  You 
know  how  absurd  those  Boston  people  are  about 
chaperons!  And  I  meant  to  startle  them.  It 


The  Burden  ^  Nineveh         269 

was  so  very  stupid — near-sighted  as  I  am,  I  might 
have  made  a  serious  mistake.  Pray  do  not  let 
me  disturb  you." 

As  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck,  sweetly  smiling,  moved 
a  step  away,  Alida's  impulse  was  to  let  her  go  in 
peace,  but  intuition  urged  a  wiser  course. 

"I  am  sure  the  mistake  was  most  natural,"  she 
said.  "I  look  so  much  like  Lucy  Strong. 
(There  was  no  Lucy  Strong.)  Please  tell  me  if 
you  remember  anything  about  Nineveh.  We 
were  trying  to  make  out.  Oh,  let  me  introduce 
Mr.  Bogardus. " 

Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  expressed  her  gratification 
and  renewed  her  explanations. 

"My  son,"  she  said,  "so  often  wears  brown 
gloves.  Perhaps  you  know  my  son?" 

"I  think  I  have  that  pleasure,"  was  the  unex 
pected  answer,  and  the  lady  with  whom  "plac 
ing"  new  acquaintances  was  a  sacred  duty,  said: 
"Not  professionally,  I  trust?" 

"Yes,  quite  professionally,"  Anthony  rejoined. 
"I  am  one  of  his  most  admiring  patients,"  which 
being  an  unpromising  lead,  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck 
tried  another. 

"Your  name  is  so  familiar  to  me,"  she  said. 
"I  had  a  school  friend  once  who  must  have  been 
a  relative  of  yours.  Alida,  my  dear,  you  must 
have  heard  your  Cousin  Caroline  often  speak  of 
Anita  Bogardus." 


270    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Alida,  eagerly,  "often; 
they  were  at  Fulham  Priory  together." 

"Not  at  school  together,"  corrected  Mrs.  Van 
Gaasbeck,  "but  they  met  there  some  years  later, 
when  your  cousin  went  there  for  a  visit.  Her 
brother  was  always  at  the  house.  It  was  all  so 
sad." 

"I  should  not  call  it  sad,"  returned  Alida,  at 
a  venture.  She  knew  that  Anthony  was  listen 
ing,  and  hoped  with  all  her  heart  to  bring  about 
disclosures  without  allowing  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck 
the  pleasure  of  disclosing. 

"Ah,  would  you  not,  my  dear?"  went  on  that 
lady.  "You  Dutch  have  your  own  way  of  look 
ing  at  such  things.  Caroline  behaved  all  through 
with  spirit,  though  some  people  thought  she  went 
a  step  too  far  in  blaming  Doctor  Groesbeck,  just 
because  he  performed  the  ceremony,  which  the 
poor  man  had  a  perfect  right  to  do." 

"What  ceremony  do  you  mean?"  asked  Alida, 
betraying  her  ignorance  of  family  history  in 
anxiety  to  learn  the  truth.  Even  Anthony, 
standing  motionless  beside  them,  could  not  be 
more  eager  for  the  answer." 

"What!  don't  you  know?"  cried  Mrs.  Van 
Gaasbeck,  highly  gratified.  "You  Dutch  are  so 
close-mouthed.  Is  it  possible  you  have  never 
heard  that  Anita  Bogardus  married  your  Cousin 
Caroline's  brother,  Anthony,  who  ran  away  to 


The  Burden  o/' Nineveh         271 

the  West,  and  died  almost  immediately?  Now, 
for  goodness'  sake,  don't  say  I  told  you,  but  it  is 
absurd  to  make  a  secret  of  what  everybody  knew 
all  about  at  the  time.  I  am  going  now,  before  I 
put  my  foot  in  it  again.  Good  by,  Mr.  Bogar- 
dus.  I  hope  you  are  not  related  to  any  one  we 
have  been  talking  of.  Do  drop  in  and  see  my 
son  again  without  waiting  to  get  ill.  Good  by, 
Alida,  dear,  it's  so  nice  to  see  a  girl  of  your  age 
interested  in  intellectual  things.  Was  it  not  odd 
our  running  across  each  other  here?  I  shall  tell 
Richard  all  about  it." 

When  they  were  alone  again  in  the  alcove, 
Alida  did  not  speak  at  once.  She  would  have 
liked  to  have  gone  away  in  silence,  leaving  him 
to  realize  the  significance  of  what  he  had  heard. 
She  wished  that  he  could  have  heard  it  from 
another  source,  and  told  her  afterward  of  his 
own  accord.  It  seemed  in  some  way  that  she 
was  an  intruder  and  where  she  had  no  right  to 
be,  that  when  he  spoke  he  must  conceal  his  joy 
from  her,  and  that  her  own  gratification  must 
seek  a  meaningless,  conventional  expression. 
Then  she  knew  that  he  was  close  beside  her. 

"My  cousin  Alida!"  he  whispered. 

"My  cousin  Anthony  De  Wint,"  she  answered, 
without  looking  up. 

"That  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  heard  my 
own  name,"  he  said. 


272    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Hush,"  Alida  whispered,  warningly;  "here 
comes  some  one  else." 

"We  have  here  reproduced  in  absolute  fac 
simile,  a  fragment  of  the  walls  of  ancient  Nine 
veh.  ' '  It  was  the  voice  of  speculative  archaeology 
in  a  familiar  field.  "These  lions  with  human 
heads,  typifying  strength  and  intelligence,  are 
guardians  of  the  gates  of  Paradise.  But  unlike 
the  Western  fable,  the  Assyrian  legend  runs  that 
Adam  and  Eve  are  still  in  Eden  under  their  pro 
tection.  Young  ladies,  if  you  will  kindly  step 
this  way,  the  light — " 

The  young  ladies  appeared  to  derive  much 
satisfaction  from  the  symbols  of  primeval  bliss 
before  them,  but  later  Alida  said:  "I  can't  be 
lieve  I  ever  was  a  horrid  school-girl." 

"I'm  very  sure  you  never  were,"  replied  her 
cousin — her  fourth  cousin — Anthony. 

They  had  left  the  lions,  passed  through  the 
mummies'  dormitory,  and  were  in  the  lobby  where 
the  Bacchante  makes  herself  at  home  before  the 
Greek  philosophers,  who  would  never  have  come 
had  they  known  what  the  entertainment  was  to 
be. 

"Everything  will  be  arranged  much  better 
when  the  new  wing  is  open,"  Alida  remarked, 
objectively. 

"Yes,  that  will  be  a  great  improvement,"  he 
assented. 


The  Burden  of  Nineveh         273 

When  she  asked  what  the  time  was,  and  he  had 
told  her  nearly  five,  she  declared  that  it  would  be 
dark  before  she  reached  Kenilworth  Place. 

"I  shall  assert  my  right  to  see  you  there  in 
safety,"  he  responded. 

"Thank  you;  that  will  be  very  nice,"  she 
said. 

He  had  had  no  rights  to  assert  when,  tucked 
in  the  yellow  sleigh,  he  brought  her  home  in 
safety  before,  but  then  she  had  not  been  his 
cousin,  and  she  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to 
thank  him  for  coming  miles  to  read  the  broker's 
letter  when  he  was  not  the  nephew  of  Miss  Caro 
line  De  Wint. 

"Of  course  you  will  wish  to  see  your  aunt," 
she  said. 

Alida  spoke  constrainedly,  for  since  the  climax 
of  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck's  disclosure,  the  afternoon 
had  lost  something  of  its  zest,  grown  tamer, 
quieter,  as  though  a  breeze  had  fallen.  They 
had  so  much  to  talk  of  in  their  new  relationship, 
the  difficulty  was  only  where  to  begin.  But 
there  need  be  no  hurry  to  begin,  now  that 
their  meetings  were  to  depend  no  more  upon 
chance.  Long  evenings  would  be  theirs,  and 
rainy  afternoons  when  they  might  laugh  at  the 
odd  acquaintance  that  had  turned  out  so  well. 
Even  if  Miss  De  Wint  should  not  like  her 
nephew,  she  would  be  glad  to  find  a  claimant  for 


274    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

the  Tankard  and  the  Spoon.  It  was  all  to  end 
as  a  story  should,  though  not  an  exciting  story. 
When  one,  from  watching  a  sunset,  is  called  in 
to  tea,  it  is  possible  to  appreciate  the  tea  and 
still  regret  the  sunset. 

"My  aunt!"  he  said,  recalling  her  words,  after 
an  unresponsive  moment.  "Oh,  yes,  I  shall  see 
her  of  course,  after  I  have  found  this  Doctor 
Groesbeck,  if  he  is  still  living." 

Alida  told  him  of  the  clergyman's  exchange  to 
Wilmington,  and  he  declared  that  he  would  travel 
there  without  delay. 

As  they  came  out  upon  the  esplanade  over 
looking  the  park,  the  winter  sun  was  setting  red 
behind  the  obelisk.  Far  to  the  south  rose  the 
blue  city  under  rosy  clouds  of  steam.  The  drive 
was  gay  with  carriages,  for  the  snow  had  gone, 
and  along  the  paths  came  knots  of  chattering 
people  hurrying  supperward.  Through  the 
gathering  shadows  the  ruddy  home-lights  had 
begun  to  glow,  and  along  the  avenue  a  chain  of 
violet  stars  stretched  out  toward  the  merry 
night. 

"Is  it  not  beautiful?"  Alida  cried.  "Is  it  not 
enough  to  be  a  part  of  it,  to  be  alive,  and  in  New 
York?" 

"You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  alone  here — 
all  alone — as  I  was  once  for  just  three  hours,"  he 
said  half  laughing. 


The  Burden  of  Nineveh         275 

"I  should  not  think  three  hours  very  long  to 
be  alone  anywhere,"  she  replied,  as  they  went 
down  the  steps. 

"Perhaps  not,  when  you  know  there  is  to.be  an 
end  of  it,"  he  said;  "but  I  did  not  know  how 
many  months  and  years  I  was  to  be  an  uncon- 
sidered  ghost  in  all  the  rush  of  life.  It  was 
enough  to  drive  a  man  to  desperate  deeds,  and  it 
drove  me  to  call  on  Miss  De  Wint. " 

Possibly  had  Alida  given  him  the  opportunity 
he  would  have  explained  why  he  had  found  that 
visit  a  cure  for  loneliness,  but  she  did  not. 

"You  really  should  know  something  of  your 
aunt,"  she  said;  "and  first  of  all,  she  will  expect 
you  to  be  proud  of  being  a  De  Wint." 

"I  shall  have  to  become  accustomed  to  the 
name  before  attempting  to  cultivate  a  pride  in 
it,"  he  answered. 

In  the  car  she  gave  him  further  information, 
scraps  of  family  history,  and  personal  anecdotes 
of  Cousin  Caroline's  charity  and  general  excel 
lence,  of  which  no  nephew  should  be  ignorant. 
It  should  not  be  her  fault  if  Miss  De  Wint's  new 
found  kinsman  were  wanting  in  either  admiration 
or  esteem. 

When  they  left  the  car  and  started  westward 
the  sidewalks  already  felt  the  influence  of  closing 
time,  but  here  the  homing  people  went  with 
heavier  feet  than  those  about  the  obelisk.  After 


176    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Lenox  Hill,  below  Fourteenth  Street  looked  care 
worn  and  down  at  the  heel. 

Twilight  had  fallen,  and  the  sky  above  the  Jer 
sey  hills  was  cold  and  purple;  the  wind  came  up 
keen  from  the  western  river,  and  Kenilworth  Place 
was  not  a  spot  to  linger  in.  It  was  the  hour 
when  day  throws  down  her  halberd  and  night 
comes  grumbling  to  the  watch;  the  time  of 
neither  dog  nor  wolf;  the  retrocessional  of  light. 

"Won't  you  come  in  and  see  your  aunt?"  she 
asked,  with  a  half-hearted  smile. 

"Oh,  no, "  he  said;  "I'm  sure  my  aunt  will 
keep." 

When  they  had  mounted  the  steps  in  silence  he 
pulled  the  bell  handle  and  they  heard  the  answer 
ing  jingle  from  the  basement.  While  they  stood 
dully  counting  seconds  there  came  a  sound  of 
shuffling  feet  in  the  hall  within,  and  the  flash  of 
Mary's  apron  through  the  ground-glass  door; 
then  the  turning  of  the  knob;  gas,  and  a  smell 
of  soup.  There  was  the  walnut  hatrack  with 
Edward  Volkert's  overcoat  upon  it,  and  Mr.  Rug- 
gles's  shabby  little  hat;  the  checkered  marble 
floor,  and  the  long  weary  stairs. 

"Good  by,"  she  said,  and  no  one  could  have 
guessed  what  a  comprehensive  good  by  she 
meant,  least  of  all  De  Wint,  who  did  not  appear 
to  hear  it. 

"Miss  Van  Wandeleer, "  he  said,  by  no  means 


The  Burden  of  Nineveh         277 

taking  Mary  into  his  confidence,  "when  you 
think  of  this  afternoon,  don't  forget  the  fellow 
without  a  name  whom  you  sent  for  because  he 
was  your  friend." 

Alida  flushed  and  hung  her  head.  "I  don't 
know  what  has  become  of  him,"  she  said,  with 
something  like  a  sob. 

"He  has  not  gone  very  far;  he  will  never  be 
very  far  away  when  you  want  him,"  he  answered, 
looking  not  at  her  but  toward  the  purple  sky, 
where  the  lights  of  Hoboken  already  shone  like 
stars;  and  as  he  paused,  Alida  waited  for  him  to 
speak  again.  She  had  come  to  where  the  trail 
before  her  was  no  longer  plain.  It  was  like  New 
Year's  night  once  more  in  the  snow,  and  as  then, 
she  presently  felt  herself  caught  up  and  carried 
past  the  drift. 

"Would  you  not  like  to  see  Trinity  again?" 
he  asked,  turning  to  her  confidently;  "I  mean  by 
daylight,  when  all  the  people  are  about.  Won't 
you  come  there  to-morrow,  at  any  time?" 

"I  could  not  come  to-morrow,  unless  I  were  to 
tell  several  stories,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

"Please  don't  do  that,"  he  protested,  laughing. 
"Shall  it  be  Thursday?" 

"Yes,  I  can  come  on  Thursday  morning." 

It  had  been  a  century  since  a  Miss  Van  Wan- 
deleer  had  given  such  an  answer,  but  no  one  of 
them  all  had  paid  a  higher  tribute  to  the  family 


27  8    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

dignity  than  did  Alida  in  forgetting  it.  She  had 
also  come  home  poorer  by  ten  thousand  dollars 
and  forgotten  that. 

"Good  night,"  said  Anthony;  "I  shall  go  to 
Wilmington  to-morrow  and  look  up  Doctor  Groes- 
beck. " 

"Good  night,  and  come  back  safe,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MR.  NOBODY  OF  NOWHERE 

Mrs.  Nick  Norris,  popularly  believed  to  be 
undergoing  reincarnation  on  a  lower  plane  in 
consequence  of  neglected  social  duties  as  a 
Roman  matron,  was  to  give  a  theater  party  on 
Wednesday  evening.  For,  it  being  a  part  of  her 
condemnation  to  have  the  smallest  possible  house, 
and  the  worst  possible  servants,  her  incessant 
expiations  commonly  took  this  form.  Judged  by 
present*  suffering  endured,  the  Roman  matron 
must  have  been  indeed  remiss.  An  active  hoo 
doo  stood  behind  Mrs.  Norris's  chair,  or  rode 
upon  her  box,  or  ran  ahead  to  announce  her 
coming  at  the  inn,  and  it  had  grown  to  be  a 
cheerful  custom  among  her  guests  to  lay  small 
wagers  on  his  antics. 

Mrs.  Norris  appeared  in  Kenilworth  Place  at 
half  past  nine  in  the  morning  upon  a  round  of 
calls  intended  to  make  sure  no  epidemic  had 
broken  out  among  her  invitees.  She  had  been 
careful  to  consult  a  lady  who  had  seen  the  play — 
Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere — and  pronounced  the 
plot  above  reproach.  She  was  also  in  a  position 
to  assure  all  anxious  parents  that  the  friendships 
279 


280    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

of  the  star  were  quite  platonic.  Alida  must,  if 
possible,  be  ready  at  half  past  seven,  as  the  auto 
mobile  omnibus  would  begin  its  rounds  at  Kenil- 
worth  Place,  and  everybody  would  be  sure  to 
keep  it  waiting.  It  was  to  be  a  perfectly  new 
automobile,  never  before  used,  and  therefore  free 
from  possible  infection.  Abbreviated  dinners 
were  to  be  compensated  for  later  at  the  Holland 
House,  where  Mr.  Norris  was  to  pass  the  even 
ing  in  watching  a  certain  most  desirable  table. 
He  had  determined  that  this  time  nothing  should 
go  wrong,  was  Mrs.  Norris's  last  assurance, 
though  to  those  who  knew  Nick  Norris  better 
than  did  his  wife,  the  statement  might  have 
carried  less  conviction. 

"My  dear,  be  thankful  that  you  don't  keep 
house,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer,  at  part 
ing.  "Since  fall  we  have  had  Finns,  Swedes, 
Portuguese,  and  Poles,  and  to-morrow  we  begin 
with  Japs." 

Mrs.  Norris  did  not  call  at  half  past  seven, 
having  changed  her  route  and  called  for  others 
of  the  party  first.  So  when  the  long,  black  omni 
bus  backed  up,  some  twenty  minutes  late,  before 
the  Ruggles's  door,  it  was  already  half  filled  with 
girls  in  opera  cloaks,  and  men  with  bandaged 
throats.  The  hostess,  from  her  seat  beside  the 
door,  called  her  excuses  for  remaining  there, 
which  were  unnecessary,  as  all  the  men  were  on 


Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere       281 

the  steps  to  render  aid  and  comfort  to  the  new 
recruit.  Mrs.  Norris  was  sure  she  had  forgotten 
some  one,  but  fortunately  recalled  that  the  for 
gotten  one  had  sent  regrets. 

"Tell  him  to  drive  to  twenty-nine,  West.  No, 
tell  him  fourteen,  East.  No,  no,  we  have  been 
there.  Tell  him  to  take  the  list  and  drive  where 
he  pleases." 

The  girls  sat  all  together  at  one  end  as  snugly 
as  their  dresses  would  permit.  The  men,  a  body 
guard  about  their  hostess,  sat  ever  ready  to  leap 
out  like  willing  stevedores  at  every  halting  place. 
No  chaperon  could  wish  a  greater  sinecure. 

There  were  a  dozen  altogether  when  Mrs. 
Norris's  list  was  told;  healthy,  happy  men  and 
girls,  a  little  conscious  of  being  well  dressed,  and 
more  than  a  little  conscious  of  the  mildly  bo- 
hemian  character  of  the  conveyance.  They 
might  have  mated  at  random  with  the  blessings 
of  respective  families,  and  they  might  have  made 
the  traverse  of  the  continent  without  the  watch 
ful  eye  of  Mrs.  Norris  and  come  back  none  the 
worse.  Secretly  they  thought  themselves  the 
product  of  a  civilization  that  is  a  little  better 
than  any  other  civilization,  the  children  of  a  city 
that  is  a  little  better  than  any  other  city,  and  if 
they  were  wrong  they  would  never  find  it  out. 

Alida  was  in  her  element  among  them,  and 
accepted  the  half-serious  primacy  they  accorded 


282    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

her  half  seriously.  She  knew,  as  they  knew,  that 
without  her  Mrs.  Morris's  theater  party  would  be 
something  less  of  a  success,  that  should  the  story 
of  the  night  be  told  in  current  print  her  name 
would  be  the  first  among  those  present.  But 
youth  comes  by  nature,  and  to  be  well  favored  is 
the  gift  of  God,  and  only  those  who  have  not 
these  things  think  twice  about  them. 

"Does  any  one  know  where  we  are  going?" 
inquired  a  small  girl,  whose  straight,  short  nose 
and  mousy  eyes  looked  from  the  aperture  of  a 
very  high  fur  collar,  and  the  nearest  man  replied: 
"Where  should  we  go  with  Miss  Van  Wandeleer 
aboard  except  to  the  Knickerbocker?" 

"Alida,  you're  the  only  pebble  on  the  beach," 
remarked  the  mousy  girl,  complainingly.  "No 
body  ever  picks  out  a  theater  for  me." 

"I  think  the  Bijou  is  closed,"  replied  Alida, 
and  her  reputation  being  well  established  every 
body  laughed,  and  the  youngest  gentleman  rang 
up  several  fares. 

May  Norris  tried  to  tell  a  story,  but  observing 
that  her  mother  listened,  forgot  the  point,  which 
was  more  amusing  than  the  story  could  have 
been,  and  reminded  Johnny  Alexander  of  some 
thing  he  had  heard  at  Weber  and  Fields. 

Once  started,  everybody  talked  at  once,  and 
at  the  Twenty-third  Street  crossing,  a  reckless 
cross-town  car  contributed  its  measure  of  diver- 


Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere       283 

sion.  As  they  passed  the  Holland  House  some  one 
feigned  to  discover  Nick  Norris  guarding  the  table. 

"Great  heaven!  he  is  not  alone,"  cried  Johnny 
Alexander,  and  Mrs.  Norris  mentally  scratched 
him  from  her  eligible  list. 

The  party  comfortably  filled  two  lower  boxes — 
Mrs.  Norris  was  determined  to  have  no  heart 
burnings  in  the  matter  of  front  seats — and  when 
the  butler  Norris,  whom  Mr.  Alexander  playfully 
pronounced  an  Esquimaux,  had  distributed  flow 
ers,  with  clumsy  but  impartial  hands,  there  re 
mained  nothing,  so  far  as  one  particular  party 
was  concerned,  to  delay  the  rising  of  the  curtain. 

During  the  overture  Nick  Norris  bustled  in  to 
shake  hands  with  every  one.  He  was  a  neat,  dark 
little  gentleman,  who  fitted  his  clothes  to  per 
fection,  and  ever  looked  as  though  his  hair  had 
just  been  cut.  When  he  had  lamented  his  wife's 
tyranny  in  excluding  him  from  the  evening's 
pleasure,  and  had  promised  good  behavior  if 
allowed  to  see  one  act,  he  went  away  and  did  not 
come  back. 

Alida  was  gratified  to  discover  the  Brisbanes 
in  an  opposite  box,  and  Bessie,  in  response  to 
her  nod  of  recognition,  held  an  upturned  palm 
beneath  her  ear,  and  wagged  it  knowingly.  Mrs. 
Brisbane  beamed  Martini,  and  B.  J.,  from  his 
corner,  inclined  the  dollar  mark. 

A  former  girl  friend  of  Bessie's  from  the  West 


284    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

was  also  of  the  party;  Miss  Brisbane  made  occa 
sional  experiments  with  former  friends,  but  it 
was  ever  after  their  departure  that  Alida  found 
her  most  affectionate.  This  left  a  number  of  the 
seats  unused,  which  must  have  occasioned  Mrs. 
Brisbane  secret  pangs  of  conscience. 

Presently  the  play  began.  It  was  a  good  play, 
and  the  English  company  justified  its  fame.  But 
to  Alida's  mind  the  plot  would  have  been  truer 
to  life  had  the  heroine  recognized  the  obvious 
merits  of  Mr.  Nobody  before  his  social  position — 
for  awhile  in  doubt — became  duly  established. 
She  had  also  little  patience  with  a  hero  who  re 
frained  from  speaking  plainly,  for  no  reason  but  to 
save  the  author's  situation.  In  the  intermissions 
all  the  party  conversed  discreetly,  and  posed  a 
little. 

Once,  while  one  of  the  younger  men  explained 
why  a  certain  yacht  was  less  desirable  than  a 
certain  other  yacht,  Alida  allowed  herself  a  fur 
tive  survey  of  the  balcony,  and  among  the  tiers 
of  indistinguishable  faces  two  separated  them 
selves,  as  familiar  faces  will.  They  were  in  the 
second  row  and  near  the  center,  and  presently 
some  little  individuality  of  movement  removed 
all  doubt  that  Edward  Volkert  was  there  with 
Serena  Schepmoes.  The  incident  amused  Alida, 
and  she  found  the  novelette  suggested  by  it  more 
entertaining  than  the  yacht. 


Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere       285 

"Miss  Van  Wandeleer, "  began  Johnny  Alex 
ander,  when  the  yachtsman  had  been  dispos 
sessed,  "I  want  to  make  a  bet  with  you.  Forty 
roses  to  a  cigarette,  that  you  will  say  'yes'  to  my 
next  question!" 

"Done!"  said  Alida,  recklessly. 

"Will  you  dance  the  Brisbane  cotillion  with 
yours  obediently?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  laughing,  "but  I  thought 
you  did  not  know  them." 

"I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Alexander;  "you  will  have 
to  engineer  my  invitation." 

"Then  I  shall  tell  Bessie  all  the  circumstances 
and  leave  it  to  her  generosity.  My  saying  'yes' 
put  you  completely  at  her  mercy,  you  know." 

"Oh,  the  Brisbane  charity  is  celebrated  for  its 
breadth,"  rejoined  Johnny  Alexander,  with  patri 
cian  patronage.  "Just  look  at  the  two  deserving 
subjects  they  are  taking  aboard  now!" 

Alida,  looking,  perceived  a  movement  in  the 
Brisbane  box,  occasioned  by  the  arrival  of  the 
subjects. 

"Do  you  know  who  they  are?"  she  asked  of 
Johnny  Alexander. 

"One,  I  should  guess  by  his  smile,  to  be  a 
floor-walker,"  he  said,  judicially;  "and  the  other, 
perhaps,  something  in  the  sock  department. 
Please  don't  think  me  snobby.  I  quite  look  up 
to  retail  dry  goods,  I  assure  you." 


286    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"That  is  very  nice  of  you,  indeed,"  returned 
Alida,  with  a  smile  of  recognition  for  some  one 
in  the  charitable  box.  "I'm  sure  no  one  would 
appreciate  it  more  than  Lord  Wensdale. " 

"Lord  Wensdale!"  repeated  Johnny  Alex 
ander,  unabashed.  "The  bounding  Briton,  who 
has  just  acquired  the  Cattle  Trust!  I  wonder 
how  much  of  the  forty  million  B.  J.  captured!" 
Then,  forgetting  dry  goods,  he  inquired,  plead 
ingly:  "Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  do  you  think  you 
could  be  happy  with  the  love  of  an  honest  man, 
and  forty  millions?" 

Alida  did  not  answer  this,  for  the  well-known 
state  of  Mr.  Alexander's  finances  left  ample  time 
for  a  decision. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Norris,  after  amicable  signals, 
was  preparing  to  run  up  the  Union  Jack. 

"If  I  thought  they  would  come,  I'd  ask  them 
to  supper  in  a  minute,"  she  told  Alida,  confi 
dentially.  "One  feels  so  sorry  for  strangers, 
and  they  are  not  with  the  Brisbanes.  I  saw  them 
leave  their  own  seats  in  the  orchestra.  Nick  met 
them  yesterday  at  the  club,  and  as  we  happened 
to  be  giving  a  little  dinner  at  Sherry's  he  invited 
them  at  once.  We  should  like  to  be  treated  in 
just  that  way  if  we  were  in  a  foreign  country." 

"Yes,  shouldn't  we?"  assented  Johnny  Alex 
ander,  with  feeling,  as  the  curtain  rose  upon  the 
third  act. 


Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere       287 

This  was  the  well-known  act  wherein  the  hero 
ine  ascends  a  cherry  tree,  and  a  stupid  servant 
takes  away  the  ladder.  She  was  charming,  sit 
ting  on  the  bough  and  throwing  fruit  into  her 
lover's  mouth,  and  the  final  leap  into  his  arms 
upon  the  apparition  of  stern  paternity  was  cleverly 
accomplished. 

"And  as  for  you,  sir,  my  stable  boys  shall 
thrash  you!"  spoke  paternity,  and  it  was  then 
that  Alida  thought  Mr.  Nobody  should  have 
declared  himself  at  the  risk  of  ending  the  per 
formance. 

During  the  next  entre'acte  Old  Wenny,  accom 
panied  by  Mr.  Howlet,  made  a  visit  of  ceremony. 
They  recalled  the  Sherry  dinner  pleasantly,  and 
would  have  been  most  happy  to  have  supped  with 
Mrs.  Norris  had  not  an  engagement — " 

"Those  new  people  are  so  pushing!"  sighed 
the  matron  inwardly,  but  outwardly  she  smiled 
and  murmured:  "Some  other  night  this  week,  I 
hope." 

Only  Lord  Wensdale  could  reach  Alida's  side 
conveniently — Mr.  Alexander  had  slipped  out  for 
a  cigarette — and  in  the  short  conversation  be 
tween  them  he  told  of  his  safe  return,  the  happy 
arrival  of  the  caribou's  head  uninjured,  and  two 
clever  sayings  of  Miss  Brisbane.  Indicating 
three  vacant  seats,  he  said:  "We  are  expecting 
to  have  with  us  a  chap  whose  train  has  been 


288    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

delayed  somewhere  between  here  and  Wilming 
ton. " 

"Wilmington?"  Alida  repeated.  "There  has 
not  been  an  accident,  I  hope." 

"Oh,  no,  he'll  turn  up  later  for  a  bit  of  supper 
with  us.  Perhaps  you  have  met  him  at  the  Bris- 
banes,  by  the  way.  His  name  is  Bogardus." 

"If  you  mean  Anthony  Bogardus,  he  is  my 
cousin,"  replied  Alida,  blushing  prettily. 

"I  see,"  said  Wensdale,  which  might  mean 
much  or  little. 

"And  do  you  know  him  well?"  she  asked. 

"We  met  in  connection  with  this  cattle  deal," 
explained  the  earl;  "but  I  have  rarely  liked  a 
man  so  well  on  short  acquaintance.  I  am 
charmed  to  hear  you  are  related,  really  charmed. 
The  family  should  be  proud  of  him.  At  his  age 
such  ability  is  quite  unheard  of.  You  have  a 
wonderful  country,  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  a  land 
of  miracles." 

She  wondered  why  Lord  Wensdale  should  have 
introduced  national  resources  with  such  abrupt 
ness,  but  supposed  he  had  found  himself  going 
further  than  he  intended  in  the  praises  of  her 
kinsman. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  pleased  with  the  country," 
she  remarked. 

"We  like  your  country  very  much,"  he  went 
on,  smiling;  "but  I  confess  we  like  its  products 


Mr.  Nobody  ^Nowhere       289 

better.  The  chief  product,  Miss  Van  Wande- 
leer,  is  dividends,  you  know,  and  we  old  fogies 
on  the  other  side  are  rather  fond  of  dividends; 
we  all  bow  down  to  the  almighty  dollar." 

"And  that  is  why  you  call  your  gold  pieces 
sovereigns,  I  suppose,"  she  rejoined,  which  being 
a  plain,  unvarnished  jest,  pleased  Wensdale 
greatly. 

"Alida  has  so  much  social  talent,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Norris  to  May,  when  the  visitor  had  bowed 
himself  out.  "The  charm  of  perfect  breeding,  I 
should  call  it." 

"It  isn't,"  said  her  daughter,  sullenly;  "it  is 
only  thinking  of  things  to  say  in  time." 

The  Brisbanes  were  waiting  for  their  carriage 
near  the  Thirty-eighth  Street  door,  across  the 
lobby  from  where  Mrs.  Norris  'herded  her  flocks 
while  her  scouts  deployed  without.  Bessie  held 
up  a  fan  in  token  of  good  faith,  but  the  presence 
of  the  former  friend  deterred  her  from  further 
demonstration,  and  Mrs.  Brisbane  had  developed 
symptoms  of  oppression. 

B.  J.  at  first  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but  pres 
ently  he  appeared,  and  catching  sight  of  Alida, 
made  his  way  toward  her.  He  wore  the  fur-lined 
overcoat,  dear  as  the  dollar  mark  to  the  hearts  of 
cartoonists,  and  Mrs.  Norris,  observing  him  to 
be  the  target  of  all  eyes,  experienced  a  new  satis 
faction  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Van  Wandeleer. 


290    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I've  got  a  bottle  on  the  ice  for  somebody," 
Brisbane  said,  in  metaphor,  as  he  took  Alida's 
hand.  He  spoke  low,  as  was  his  habit  when  in 
public,  and  with  the  air  of  saying  something  of 
importance — another  habit. 

"For  me?"  inquired  Alida,  guiltily. 

"Rather!"  he  answered,  laughing;  "but  it 
will  keep.  How  did  you  like  the  show?" 

Alida  expressed  approval  of  the  show,  and 
asked  if  Bessie  had  enjoyed  it. 

"Oh,  thoroughly,"  said  Bessie's  father,  "in 
spite  of  not  being  able  to  rewrite  the  play  and 
take  the  leading  role  herself." 

They  made  a  striking  vignette  of  Manhattan, 
the  tall  man  of  the  hour  in  his  marvellous  fur 
coat,  and  the  pretty  Miss  Van  Wandeleer  in  her 
fluffy  wraps  and  slightly  lifted  skirt;  a  picture 
many  stopped  to  look  at,  and  which  lost  nothing 
in  effect  when  Mr.  Love,  in  bear-skin  collar, 
pushed  through  the  crowd  leading  a  district  tele 
graph  boy,  somewhat  dazed  by  his  environment. 

"I  am  going  to  open  this  dispatch,  my  dear 
Princess,"  announced  B.  J.,  carelessly,  "and  in 
order  to  mystify  the  populace,  I  shall  show  it  to 
you.  Please  appear  amused  whatever  it  may  be. 
The  play's  the  thing!" 

As  he  spoke  he  tore  open  the  envelope,  barely 
glanced  at  the  yellow  paper  within,  and  handed 
it  to  Alida,  who,  laughing  obediently,  read: 


Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere       291 

"  'Brig    Mary   Ann    unloading   at    Commercial 
wharf.'  ' 

"You  did  not  know  that  I  had  shipping  inter 
ests,"  he  said. 

"No,"  answered  Alida,  outwardly  keeping  up 
the  comedy;  "but  I  do  understand  something  of 
this.  Bessie  and  I  came  in,  you  know,  while  you 
were  dictating  a  letter  on  New  Year's  Day." 

"True,"  assented  Mr.  Brisbane;  "I  rely  on 
your  discretion,"  and  still  smiling  he  went  to 
join  his  party. 

."I  have  never  seen  the  great  B.  J.  so  close  at 
hand  before,"  said  Mrs.  Norris,  as  they  left  the 
theater.  "What  an  interesting  face  he  has." 
The  Norrises  had  been  of  those  who  held  aloof 
from  the  Park  Avenue  family  when  first  their  star 
shone  in  the  ascendant,  but,  remembering  the 
Roman  matron,  she  was  ever  ready  to  admit  mis 
takes,  and  make  amendment  when  occasion 
served.  "Is  it  true  they  are  about  to  send  out 
cards  for  a  cotillion?" 

Mrs.  Norris,  who  had  set  her  heart  upon  a 
large,  round  table  in  comparative  seclusion,  was 
not  pleased  to  discover  that  her  husband  had 
effected  an  exchange  for  another  in  the  middle 
of  the  restaurant. 

"Nick,  that  was  exactly  what  I  might  have 
expected,"  was  all  she  said,  but  the  words  were 
in  intent  profane. 


292     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"That's  the  worst  of  having  married  people  in 
a  party,"  whispered  Johnny  Alexander  to  Alida. 
"They  are  sure  to  fight.  Miss  Van  Wandeleer, 
let's  call  our  engagement  off." 

"For  the  cotillion?" 

"No,  for  life.  Oh,  I  had  forgotten  I  did  not 
propose;  I  meant  to  do  so  in  the  last  intermis 
sion.  I  wonder  if  it  could  have  been  to  some 
other  girl." 

At  supper  it  appeared  that  Mr.  Norris,  aided 
by  the  Hoodoo,  had  at  the  late  hour  added  to  the 
bill  of  fare  some  certain  dishes  which  took  long 
in  preparation.  It  was  for  the  hostess  another 
expiation,  though  no  one  else  found  reason  to 
complain  if,  when  they  rose  at  last,  most  of  the 
other  tables  were  deserted.  But  it  was  not  until 
they  were  all  in  the  lobby  once  more,  differen 
tiating  wraps,  and  preparing  for  the  homeward 
journey,  that  the  real  potentiality  of  the  Norris 
Hoodoo  became  apparent. 

"Lord,  Nancy!"  gasped  Mr.  Norris,  entering 
from  the  avenue,  pale  and  tremulous,  "the  auto's 
busted!" 

"Oh,  Nick!"  cried  Mrs.  Norris,  softened  by 
the  presence  of  actual  calamity,  "can't  it  go?" 

"No,"  said  her  husband,  with  finality,  "it's 
anchored  out  there  like  an  owl  lunch  wagon." 

"Hansoms!"  suggested  Johnny  Alexander, 
drawing  nearer  to  Alida. 


Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere       293 

"Impossible!" 

"Telephone!"  suggested  some  one  else. 

"Too  late!" 

"Charter  a  Fifth  Avenue  stage!" 

"Stopped  running!" 

As  Miss  Van  Wandeleer,  who  had  no  sugges 
tions  to  offer,  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  group, 
now  agitated  with  a  pleasurable  excitement,  she 
heard  a  voice  beside  her. 

"Alida!" 

"Anthony!"  she  cried,  forgetting  to  prefix 
cousin  in  her  surprise. 

He  had  just  come  into  the  hotel,  and  perhaps 
knew  more  of  th*e  stranded  vehicle  than  she.  At 
all  events  it  did  not  appear  necessary  to  explain. 
Knowing  of  the  calamity,  the  bevy  of  half-fright 
ened  girls  explained  itself. 

"So  you  are  one  of  them,"  he  said,  with  less 
concern  than  civility  demanded,  and  turning  to 
a  bell-boy,  he  added,  "Go  out  and  tell  my  man 
to  wait." 

He  wore  his  gray  coat,  just  as  she  had  seen 
him  on  the  evening  of  their  first  meeting  when 
he  had  come  in  from  the  sleet  to  Mrs.  Ruggles's 
parlor,  and  when,  oddly,  she  had  seemed  to 
know  him  better  than  in  the  short  afternoon  of 
their  relationship. 

"You  have  a  gift  for  sudden  appearances,"  she 
said. 


294    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"And  you  a  gift  for  getting  into  trouble,"  he 
replied. 

"It's  not  my  fault,"  she  protested;  "it's  the 
Norris  Hoodoo." 

"We  have  decided  on  hansoms  after  all,"  said 
Mrs.  Norris,  coming  up.  "Nick  is  outside  now 
collecting  seven." 

It  simplified  the  situation  somewhat  that  Miss 
Van  Wandeleer  should  so  opportunely  externalize 
at  once  a  cousin  and  a  cab,  and  Mrs.  Norris 
breathed  to  May,  "Alida's  tact  is  really  wonder 
ful!" 

A  minute  later  the  tactful  one  was  rolling 
rapidly  southward  in  the  corner  of  a  brougham, 
a  spacious  brougham  whose  satin  lining  she  could 
feel,  and  whose  superficial  luxuries  every  passing 
light  revealed;  a  clock,  a  hand  glass,  a  silver 
rack  of  many  small  conveniences. 

"I  am  afraid  we  have  taken  some  one's  car 
riage  by  mistake,"  she  said.  "This  is  like 
Bessie's,  only  better.  I  never  saw  such  a  lot  of 
modern  improvements." 

"Oh,  that  is  not  all,"  he  answered,  laughing. 
"It  has  steam  heat  and  electric  lights,"  and  with 
a  button  he  created  an  illumination  just  long 
enough  to  establish  its  possibility. 

Already  old  Delmonico's  was  on  their  right, 
and  to  the  left  Farragut  in  bronze,  with  Madison 
Square  dark  and  shadowy  beyond.  Some  day 


Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere       295 

she  would  tell  him  of  St.  Martin,  some  day  when 
they  had  more  time. 

"I  want  to  hear  of  your  trip  to  Wilmington," 
she  said.  "Did  you  find  Dr.  Groesbeck?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  answered,  leaning  back;  "I  saw 
him,  good  old  man,  and  he  told  me  everything 
there  was  to  tell.  He  married  my  father  and 
mother,  and  my  aunt,  who  had  set  her  heart  upon 
my  father  marrying  another  girl  she  liked  better, 
appears  to  have  made  herself  a  meddlesome  old 
nuisance  all  around.  It  was  a  desolate  half- 
elopement  that  nobody  cared  much  about,  and 
the  family  quarrel  might  or  might  not  have  been 
patched  up  later.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it 
some  other  time,  but  somehow  I  cannot  yet  con 
nect  the  story  with  myself.  I  cannot  even  feel 
any  great  concern  in  it.  Do  you  think  it  strange 
and  unnatural  in  me  to  feel  no  more  sympa 
thy  for  my  poor  parents,  who  died  twenty-five 
years  ago,  than  if  I  had  only  read  of  them  in  a 
book?" 

"No,"  said  Alida,  "but  I  am  sure  most  people 
would  pretend  to  have  more  sentiment." 

"Oh,  I  am  going  to  try,"  he  went  on;  "I  shall 
find  out  all  the  places  where  they  walked,  and  all 
the  things  existing  now  that  they  once  saw,  and 
I  shall  read  the  old  tales  and  the  old  poetry  they 
read  till  I  know  something  of  how  they  talked 
and  thought.  And  I  shall  find  old  pictures  to 


296     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

show  how  they  dressed.  Then  perhaps  I  can 
bring  them  back,  and — it  will  be  different." 

Broadway  flashed  suddenly  across  their  path; 
Broadway,  the  irresponsible  defier  of  order,  cleav 
ing  the  granite  city  where  it  will — Broadway, 
Mother  of  Lights. 

"I  am  sure  it  will  be  different,"  said  Alida, 
softly,  "and  may  I  help?" 

"Yes,  you  can  lend  a  hand,"  he  said. 

They  entered  now  a  zone  of  quiet,  where  great, 
deserted  buildings  slept,  and  only  the  street 
lamps  shone  in,  first  from  the  right  and  then  from 
the  left. 

"You  have  not  forgotten  to-morrow?"  he 
said. 

She  shook  her  head  for  answer,  leaning  for 
ward  with  her  face  turned  to  the  carriage  win 
dow.  In  five  minutes  more  she  would  be  at 
home. 

"Were  you  surprised  to  see  me  at  the  Holland 
House?"  she  asked,  when  a  dozen  alternating 
lights  had  passed. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "you  might  have  come  to 
meet  me." 

"How  absurd!"  she  said,  still  looking  from 
the  window. 

There  were  cabs  in  front  of  the  French  restau 
rant,  and  within  the  music  was  still  playing — 
playing  a  Hungarian  waltz. 


Mr.  Nobody  of  Nowhere       297 

Alida  wiped  the  moisture  of  her  breath  from 
the  glass  with  her  handkerchief. 

"I  heard  some  one  say  something  very  nice 
about  you  this  evening  at  the  theater,"  she 
said;  "but  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  you  de 
serve  it." 

She  heard  him  laugh  a  little  in  his  corner  before 
he  responded,  "Please  tell  me  who  it  was." 

"Lord  Wensdale." 

"Oh,  Wenny,  old  chap!"  he  answered,  quoting 
Howlet.  "Yes,  he  has  invited  me  to  visit  him 
in  Devonshire  next  fall." 

"Shall  you  go?" 

"I'll  tell  you  that  to-morrow." 

"Thank  you,  Cousin  Anthony." 

Fourteenth  Street  just  ahead  with  a  shabby 
little  horse  car  trotting  eastward  empty  and  aim 
less. 

"I'm  not  your  Cousin  Anthony!" 

"Oh,  are  you  not?     Who  are  you  then?" 

"I  will  tell  you  to-morrow." 

Cheap  carpets  in  a  lighted  window,  forty-nine 
cents  the  yard  for  blue  or  brown  or  striped. 

"You  are  keeping  everything  for  to-morrow," 
said  Alida,  "while  I  have  changed  my  mind  about 
going  to  Trinity  at  all." 

Again  in  his  corner  Anthony  laughed.  "To 
night  don't  count  for  anything,"  he  said,  mys 
teriously;  "it's  just  a  sort  of  extra  dividend." 


298     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  dividends,"  she 
asserted,  "except  that  Englishmen  like  them." 

"For  which  may  heaven  be  blessed,"  said 
Anthony. 

It  was  a  different  home-coming  from  that  of 
the  yellow  sleigh.  Almost  as  different  as  though 
the  story  had  been  reversed  to  permit  the  pump 
kin  to  become  a  coach  and  six.  The  footman 
who  opened  the  carriage  door  was  even  slimmer 
and  neater  than  Mr.  Love,  the  back  upon  the 
box  straighter  than  that  of  Moneypenny.  There 
was  a  light  in  the  hall  where  Mary  stood  expect 
ing  her,  and  the  stair  carpet  shone  cheerfully  red. 

"Stop  just  a  minute,  please,"  said  Anthony, 
"and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  carriage." 

"It  is  beautiful,"  she  said. 

"As  fine  as  Bessie  Brisbane's?" 

"Yes,  ever  so  much  nicer.     Whose  is  it?" 

"If  you  are  very  good,  and  don't  keep  people 
waiting,"  he  replied,  "I  will  tell  you  all  about  it, 
perhaps — to-morrow. " 

She  turned  and  left  him,  running  up  the  steps 
without  so  much  as  a  good  night.  What  was 
this  wonderful  to-morrow  to  be,  when  so  much 
would  be  made  clear? 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  GENEROSITY  OF  ANTHONY 

"Cousin  Caroline,  may  I  come  in?"  inquired 
Alida  through  the  door  of  Miss  De  Wint's  apart 
ment,  and  from  within  the  echo  cried,  "Come 
in. " 

The  hour  being  half  past  seven  in  the  morning, 
Alida  was  not  unprepared  to  find  the  room  in 
something  less  than  its  accustomed  order. 
Cousin  Caroline's  cabinet,  obligingly  upon  all 
fours  as  it  were,  became  at  night  a  bed,  and  in 
this  bed  was  now  Miss  Caroline  herself,  so  much 
of  her  as  was  visible  above  a  smooth  and  spot 
less  counterpane,  clad  in  a  red  flannel  sack  of 
many  scallops,  within  her  hands  a  copy  of  Thomas 
a  Kempis  in  large  type.  Only  a  pair  of  worsted 
slippers  at  the  bedside  suggested  that  Cousin 
Caroline  ever  intended  to  get  up. 

"Good  gracious  me!  what  time  is  it?"  she 
demanded,  viewing  the  finished  aspect  of  her 
godchild's  toilet  with  alarm. 

"Oh,  not  nearly  eight  yet,"  replied  the  other, 
reassuringly. 

"Then  what  is  the  matter?"     Miss  Van  Wan- 
deleer  was  not  always  dressed  at  eight. 
299 


300    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Oh,  nothing;  I  only  woke  rather  early,  and 
thought  you  might  like  to  have  a  call  from  me." 

"Of  course,  my  dear,"  affectionately;  "sit 
down." 

As  Alida  encamped  in  the  vicinity  of  a  mini 
ature  Mont  Blanc,  composed  in  part  of  Cousin 
Caroline's  extremities,  she  said,  "I  want  to  ask 
some  questions,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  snubbed. " 

"Snubbed?"  repeated  Miss  De  Wint,  as  though 
the  word  were  unfamiliar. 

"Well,  put  off,"  went  on  Alida,  coming  at 
once  to  her  purpose,  for  her  sponsor  could  not  be 
counted  upon  to  remain  long  in  her  present 
position.  "You  see  I  cannot  help  hearing  people 
speak  occasionally  of  things  that  happened  in  our 
family  that  I  have  never  been  told  about." 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

"Well,  for  instance,  I  never  knew  till  a  little 
while  ago  that  you  ever  had  a  brother  who  would 
have  been  my  Cousin  Anthony." 

As  Alida  spoke  of  Cousin  Anthony  it  seemed 
that  she  had  been  cheated  of  a  hallowed  memory, 
and  Miss  De  Wint,  who  had  been  keeping  her 
place  in  a  Kempis  with  her  forefinger,  closed  the 
volume  and  laid  it  upon  the  coverlet;  perhaps 
the  softening  influence  of  her  reading  was  appar 
ent  in  her  answer. 

"I  did  not  suppose  there  was  anything  that 
you  had  not  picked  up  in  one  way  or  another  by 


The  Generosity  0/~  Anthony      301 

this  time,  Alida,"  she  replied.  "There  is  no 
secret  about  my  brother  Anthony.  I  do  not  like 
to  speak  of  him,  that  is  all.  There  was  an  es 
trangement  and  he  died  years  ago,  far  away  and 
among  strangers." 

"Was  not  his  wife  with  him?" 

"Yes,  she  was  there." 

"But  you  did  not  like  her?" 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

Mont  Blanc  showed  symptoms  of  collapse. 

"My  dear,"  said  Miss  De  Wint,  "it  is  a  long 
story.  She  was  no  match  for  him,  and  if  she  had 
been,  he  was  scarcely  twenty-one.  Of  course  I 
was  not  pleased  with  the  marriage." 

"I  don't  call  that  a  long  story,"  ventured  the 
questioner,  boldly,  "and  you  could  not  have  been 
estranged  from  him  just  because  he  married  a 
girl  he  cared  for." 

Miss  Caroline  raised  herself  a  little  on  the 
pillows. 

"I  was  not  estranged  from  him,"  she  said;  "he 
was  estranged  from  me.  I  shall  tell  you  how  it 
happened,  now,  Alida,  and  then  we  need  never 
speak  of  it  again." 

Alida  nodded  her  agreement  to  the  bargain. 

"You  must  understand,"  went  on  her  god 
mother,  "when  father  died  he  left  everything — 
there  was  not  much — to  me,  being  a  woman  and 


302    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

the  eldest,  expecting  me  of  course  to  divide  with 
Anthony  as  long  as  he  might  need  it.  But  I 
always  considered  the  half  to  be  his  by  right,  and 
there  never  would  have  been  a  question  between 
us  if  he  had  not  insisted  upon  getting  married." 

"And  you  did  not  think  the  half  his  by  right 
after  that?"  Alida  asked. 

"Don't  jump  at  conclusions!"  admonished 
Miss  De  Wint,  severely ;  "I  was  not  going  to  help 
him  to  make  a  fool  of  himself,  so  I  simply  put 
the  money  aside  for  him  till  he  got  back  his 
senses.  He  had  something  of  his  own,  for  when 
he  graduated  from  the  School  of  Mines,  they 
kept  him  in  the  laboratory  and  he  would  have 
been  a  professor  at  Columbia  now;  but  he  just 
dropped  everything  and  ruined  his  career  to  run 
off  to  a  frightful  place  in  the  West,  where  her 
father  actually  kept  cows — cows,  my  dear! 
There  Anthony  died  and  she  died,  and  I  suppose 
their  child  has  been  brought  up  a  milkman!" 

"Oh,  there  was  a  child?" 

"Of  course  there  was  a  child,"  said  Miss  De 
Wint.  "Did  you  ever  hear  of  an  unsuitable 
marriage  where  there  was  not  a  child?" 

"And  do  you  know  nothing  of  your  nephew?" 
asked  Alida. 

"My  nephew!"  snorted  Cousin  Caroline.  "If 
he  ever  wants  anything  of  me,  he  will  find  me 
out,  and  if  he  never  does  he  won't  thank  me  for 


The  Generosity  of  Anthony      303 

finding  him  out.  But  if  he  should  turn  up,  I  am 
prepared  for  him." 

"Prepared  for  him?" 

"Yes,  my  dear.  I  have  never  considered  more 
than  half  the  money  mine,  so  every  quarter  when 
I  get  my  check  from  the  Guardian  and  Trustee, 
I  put  Anthony's  share  aside." 

"And  have  you  been  doing  so  all  these  years?" 

"Yes,  I  have  never  failed." 

"Oh,  Cousin  Caroline!"  cried  Alida,  deeply 
touched.  "And  you  have  never  used  a  bit 
of  it?" 

"Pshaw,  my  dear!"  retorted  Miss  De  Wint; 
"don't  take  me  for  a  fool,  Alida.  My  brother  was 
a  gentleman,  not  a  miser,  and  I  have  managed 
his  income  as  he  would  have  done  himself." 

"Oh!"  said  Alida,  mystified,  and  Miss  De 
Wint  went  on,  "Yes,  I  have  acted  as  I  believe  he 
would  have  wished.  Of  course,  after  his  death, 
there  being  no  living  expenses  to  provide  for, 
Anthony  was  able  to  afford  many  little  expendi 
tures  that  I  could  never  dream  of." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  assented  Alida,  more 
because  her  godmother  looked  sharply  toward 
her  than  because  she  really  understood,  and  Miss 
De  Wint  explained,  "There  were  charities,  you 
see,  in  which  I  knew  he  would  have  been  inter 
ested,  and  Christmas  presents  to  people  he  would 
have  liked,  and  things  of  that  sort.  He  was  a 


304     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

generous,  open-handed  boy,  and  knowing  his 
tastes  so  well,  I  could  tell  exactly  what  his 
wishes  would  have  been." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  made  the  presents  for 
him?"  Alida  inquired,  with  more  wonder  than 
she  thought  best  to  show. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  and  I  am  glad  that  you  have 
brought  the  subject  up.  You  will  now  under 
stand  that  I  am  not  so  recklessly  extravagant  as 
you  have  accused  me  of  being  at  times." 

"But  I  only  said  that  once,  Cousin  Caroline, 
about  my  watch,"  Alida  protested.  "It  was  so 
much  too  handsome." 

"I  hesitated  a  long  time  over  the  watch," 
admitted  Miss  De  Wint,  "but  I  could  fancy 
Anthony  saying,  'Pshaw,  Caroline,  go  to  Tiffa 
ny's  and  get  the  child  a  good  one,'  and  he  could 
well  afford  it.  Stay  where  you  are,  Alida,  I 
don't  want  any  false  sentiment.  If  I  have  given 
you  little  things  from  time  to  time  on  your  Cousin 
Anthony's  behalf,  I  have  never  allowed  myself 
to  want  for  what  my  brother  could  give  me — it 
would  have  been  unfair  to  him.  And  when 
Anthony's  son  turns  up,  as  he  will  some  day, 
without  a  penny  in  his  pockets,  there  will  always 
be  enough  to  keep  him  from  the  poorhouse  with 
out  expense  to  me." 

"That  is  very  fortunate,"  agreed  Alida,  with 
out  false  sentiment.  "But  suppose  he  should 


The  Generosity  of  Anthony      305 

come  here  not  wanting  anything  at  all,  but  to  be 
friendly,  and  join  the  family?" 

"I  should  receive  him  well,  I  hope,  and  let  him 
see,  as  kindly  as  I  could,  that  it  would  be  much 
better  for  every  one  if  he  went  back  to  his  dairy. " 

Miss  De  Wint,  stretching  out  her  arm,  laid 
Thomas  a  Kempis  on  a  nearby  table,  while  her 
eyes  were  allowed  to  rest  suggestively  upon  the 
worsted  slippers  at  the  bedside. 

"I  know  you  want  to  get  up,"  Alida  said, 
"but  you  must  first  let  me  ask  one  more  ques 
tion:  what  would  you  do  if  your  nephew  should 
prove  tall  and  handsome  and  well  educated  and 
not  poor,  and  brave  and  generous  and  noble?" 

"Pshaw!"  sniffed  Cousin  Caroline,  regarding 
the  slippers  with  increasing  interest,  "in  that 
case,  I  should  marry  him  to  you." 

"Then  I  should  get  the  Tankard  and  the 
Spoon!" 

"Yes;  now  run  along  to  breakfast." 

They  were  a  close-mouthed  lot,  the  De  Wints, 
as  Dutch  as  Edam  cheese,  and  when  Peterus  the 
Miller  had  cast  his  vote  for  what  should  be  the 
emblem  of  his  city,  it  had  not  been  for  the  lion 
who  can  fight,  nor  for  the  eagle  who  can  fly,  but 
for  the  beaver  who  builds  his  house  impregnable 
and  keeps  its  one  door  hidden. 

In  the  lower  hall  Edward  Volkert,  who  break 
fasted  early  and  alone,  was  putting  on  his  over- 


306    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

coat  with  unnecessary  contortions  while  Bell 
stood  watching  the  operation. 

"I  contemplate  getting  a  new  coat  to-day,"  he 
was  saying.  "How  do  you  think  a  long  fur  one 
would  suit  me?  They  only  cost  five  hundred." 

"You  would  certainly  be  taken  for  an  actor," 
put  in  Alida,  and  Volkert,  with  a  final  wrench, 
replied:  "Yes,  or  a  Brisbane — the  difference  is 
in  the  price  of  admission.  Glory!  there  goes  a 
button!  B.  J.  and  I  are  going  to  close  out  the 
Transcontinental  deal  to-day,  and  this  evening 
there  will  be  fireworks  on  the  lawn." 

"You  might  better  be  thinking  of  your  own 
business,"  said  Alida. 

"I  am,"  protested  Volkert,  buttoning  his  coat. 
' ' Be  brief,  this  is  my  busy  day !  '  And  the  party  of 
the  first  part,  for  and  in  consideration  of  the 
payment  and  emoluments  hereinafter  specified, 
hereby  covenants  and  agrees — '  "  and  so  reciting 
Volkert  departed,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"I  am  afraid  he  is  getting  more  impractical 
every  day,"  lamented  Bell. 

"He  is  certainly  getting  more  tiresome,"  said 
Alida.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  this  morn 
ing,  Bell?  Look  at  flats?" 

Bell  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"No;  no  more   flats,"  she  said,   mysteriously. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  the  other,  with  a  note 
of  disappointment,  for  flat  hunting  is  a  pastime 


The  Generosity  of  Anthony      307 

like  another  when  one  has  an  hour  or  two  to 
spare. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  pleaded  Bell,  adding,  with 
nervous  haste,  "Alida,  I  almost  believe  the  tide 
has  turned.  But  please  do  not  let  me  say  another 
word, ' '  and  Bella  Junior  rapped  with  her  knuckles 
on  the  wooden  newel  post  as  a  charm  to  avert 
the  evil  consequences  of  over-confidence. 

In  the  dining-room  little  Mr.  Ruggles,  reading 
the  morning  paper,  chuckled  to  himself. 

"What  is  it,  father?"  Bell  inquired,  and  her 
father,  who  was  not  one  to  keep  his  chuckles  to 
himself,  explained:  "Sly  old  fox,  is  Uncle 
Horace;  regular  old  sphinx  I  call  him!  Just 
hear  this,  'Uncle  Horace's  Little  Joke.  In 
reply  to  a  direct  question  concerning  his  reiter 
ated  assertion  that  the  Big  B.  had  not  been  sold, 
the  Sage  of  Cedar  Street  replied,  My  words  were 
that  the  road  could  not  be  bought.'  See  the 
point,  my  dears?  The  road  had  been  sold 
already!  A  quibble,  I  call  it;  just  a  quibble." 

"How  very  sly !"  said  Bell,  appreciatively,  and 
Alida  felt  quite  safe  in  agreeing  that  Uncle 
Horace  had  been  sly. 

"Mark  my  words,"  went  on  Mr.  Ruggles, 
"that  meeting  this  afternoon  will  be  of  vast  im 
portance.  All  Brisbane  has  to  do  now  is  to  sign 
the  biggest  check  that  ever  passed  the  clearing 
house." 


308     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Why,  father,  do  you  really  think  so?"  in 
quired  Bell,  in  a  tone  implying  that  B.  J.  should 
be  notified  at  once  of  this  simple  solution  of  the 
case. 

"Think  so?"  returned  Mr.  Ruggles,  uncover 
ing  a  dish;  "why,  bless  my  soul,  I  have  seen  it 
all  along;  besides,  it's  right  here  in  the  paper." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  T  THE  TOMB  OF  A  BISHOP 

She  found  him  in  the  nave  with  his  back  to  the 
closed  bronze  doors,  looking  toward  the  chancel 
where  the  white  altar  stood  in  shadow  beneath 
the  great  west  window.  He  saw  her  immediately 
as  she  came  in  by  the  southern  porch,  and  with 
out  moving  beckoned  her  to  come  to  him.  As 
she  stood  beside  him  in  silence  for  a  moment,  she 
knew  this  to  be  his  way  of  reminding  her  of  New 
Year's  Eve,  when  they  had  met  in  the  snow. 

"It  was  better  with  the  candles,  wasn't  it?"  he 
said  at  length,  and  Alida  answered:  "Yes,  it  was 
better  then." 

"I  wish  they  would  light  them  again,"  con 
tinued  Anthony,  reflectively;  "I  wonder  if  they 
would  if  we  were  to  make  it  an  object  to  them." 

"What  an  absurd  idea!"  rejoined  Alida.  "Of 
course  they  would  not."  But  he  did  not  appear 
to  be  convinced. 

"I  believe  they  would,"  he  insisted,  obsti 
nately.  "Some  day  let  us  see  if  they  will  not 
light  every  candle  there — just  for  you  and  me." 

He  had  taken  her  fingers  in  his — her  hand 
chanced  to  hang  very  near,  but  Alida  drew  them 
309 


jio    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

hurriedly  away  and  moved  a  few  steps  from  him. 
Her  breath  grew  short,  and  for  the  moment  she 
could  not  have  spoken  had  she  tried.  There  was 
no  doubt  of  his  meaning — there  had  never  been 
a  doubt — only  now  she  could  no  longer  cheat 
herself  into  the  belief  that  there  was  a  doubt. 
But  as  she  took  the  nearest  seat  of  a  long  pew  it 
was  with  a  feeling  of  flat  finality,  as  though 
something  that  should  have  gone  on  forever  had 
come  abruptly  to  an  end. 

She  had  always  known  that  somewhere  in  the 
path  would  be  a  gate  she  should  open  with  her 
own  hand  and  pass  through  willingly.  But  now, 
when  a  sudden  turn  had  brought  her  to  it,  the 
old  way,  the  primrose  way,  seemed  sunnier  look 
ing  back  than  she  had  sometimes  thought  it,  and 
the  country  on  ahead  seemed  tamer,  and  the  dis 
tance  gray.  There  Certainty,  with  her  little 
bunch  of  keys,  stood  waiting  to  let  her  in,  and 
Chance,  the  merry,  motley  fool,  to  say  good  by. 
Soon  he  would  be  capering  for  some  one  else,  but 
there  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  for  he  and  Miss  Van 
Wandeleer  had  been  good  friends.  Faintly  over 
head  the  bells  of  Trinity  tolled  off  another  quar 
ter  hour,  the  last,  the  very  last.  It  was  like 
being  born  again,  it  was  like  dying  and  waking 
up  in  heaven  to  find  the  dear  old  earth  rags  gone. 

Alida  was  grateful  to  him  that  he  did  not  speak 
to  her,  but  she  was  glad,  when  he  took  the  seat 


At  the  Tomb  of  a  Bishop       311 

behind,  to  feel  that  he  was  near,  for  she  was  sure 
he  understood  her  now  as  he  had  always  under 
stood.  Presently  she,  too,  understood.  Pres 
ently,  in  the  silence  that  was  as  a  sacrament 
between  them,  she  saw  that,  knowing  she  would 
stay,  he  had  left  her  free  to  go.  She  felt  that  he 
was  speaking  to  her  with  his  heart,  drawing  her 
to  him  with  his  will,  kissing  her  with  his  eyes, 
and  yet  should  she  choose  to  leave  him  he  would 
not  put  out  a  hand  to  hold  her  back.  From  the 
first  he  had  taken  everything  for  granted,  her 
good  will,  her  friendship,  her  loyalty;  now, 
though  she  had  surrendered  nothing,  there  was 
nothing  left  to  give.  Nobody  else  she  had  ever 
known  would  have  chosen  an  empty  church  for  a 
moment  such  as  this  would  be  to  both  of  them 
forever.  Nobody  else  would  have  allowed  her  at 
such  a  time  to  sit  and  think  with  her  hands  in 
her  muff.  Still,  as  she  sat,  there  came  a  gradual 
realization  that  he  held  her  above  the  women 
whose  surrender  is  half  music  and  moonlight, 
whose  new  born  love  is  cradled  with  the  sickly 
twin,  regret. 

That  he  believed  her  capable  of  understanding 
this  brought  to  Alida  a  revelation  of  herself. 
Dimly  at  first  she  saw  herself  as  some  one  who 
had  never  existed  before.  And  he,  too,  would 
be  thenceforward  some  one  else.  They  would  be 
new  people  on  the  earth,  like  those  two  in  the 


312    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

garden  for  whom  all  things  were  created.  It 
was  for  both  an  end  and  a  beginning,  the  eternal 
miracle  of  the  old  perpetual  beginning.  Some 
day  there  would  be  lighted  candles  and  music 
and  flowers,  and  every  one  would  know,  and  a 
date  would  be  written  in  the  register,  but  it 
would  not  be  the  right  date.  • 

When  Alida  rose  composedly  and  turned  to 
face  him,  his  elbows  were  on  the  back  of  the 
pew,  and  he  was  looking  up  at  her  with  the  old 
look  of  good  companionship  which  she  had  never 
shrunk  from  meeting. 

"You  promised  to  show  me  the  church,"  was 
all  he  said. 

"You  don't  deserve  it,"  she  replied,  and 
prompted  by  something  in  her  voice  that  had  not 
been  there  before,  he  reached  over  and  took  her 
hand  and  raised  the  small,  gray  fingers  to  his  lips. 

"I  know  that  very  well,"  he  said,  "but  fortu 
nately  it  is  the  undeserving  who  get  everything. " 

"Then  come,"  rejoined  Alida,  laughing,  as 
she  stepped  into  the  aisle,  "I  shall  not  let  you 
miss  a  tombstone." 

A  passing  verger,  hearing  the  laugh,  looked  at 
them  reproachfully.  He  had  before  encountered 
purblind  sightseers  in  Trinity,  but  as  he  paused 
to  adjust  a  cushion  his  manner  was  in  itself  a 
hint. 

"It  never  seems  wicked  to  talk  in  a  big  church, " 


At  the  Tomb  of  a  Bishop       313 

Alida  whispered.  "After  all  a  church  is  just 
God's  dressing-room,  and  I  look  forward  to  a 
lovely  time  in  heaven." 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  Anthony,  "but  not  just 
yet." 

There  is  not  much  to  be  seen  in  Trinity,  less 
perhaps  than  in  any  edifice  on  earth  of  like  celeb 
rity,  but  the  dim  aisles  of  the  old,  brown,  over 
shadowed  church  are  pleasant  places  when  one 
is  in  the  mood  for  loitering. 

"We  have  an  ancestor  or  two  in  the  church 
yard,"  Alida  began,  half  apologetic  in  her  role 
of  showman;  "but  I  don't  know  exactly  where 
they  are,  and  I  am  not  quite  certain  about  their 
names. " 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Anthony,  "for  now 
I  can  picture  them  each  as  being  'for  forty  years 
a  warden  of  this  parish,'  whereas  they,  might  turn 
out  just  common  vestrymen." 

"I  don't  care  much  about  this  Trinity  lot," 
Alida  responded,  loftily,  "they  were  collaterals 
anyway,  and  only  seventeen  hundred  and  some 
thing.  You  will  hear  about  the  best  ones  from 
Cousin  Caroline,  the  one  who  brought  the  news  of 
the  burning  of  Schenectady  across  the  snow,  and 
the  other  who  disapproved  of  giving  up  New 
Amsterdam  to  the  British,  and  entrenched  him 
self  in  Harlem  with  a  handful  of  followers.  " 

"Did  he  make  a  good  fight?" 


314    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"No,  but  that  was  because  they  either  did  not 
know  he  was  entrenched  or  did  not  care.  They 
never  pursued  him.  He  is  buried  in  St.  Mark's. 
Some  day  I'll  take  you  there." 

They  were  moving  slowly  through  the  southern 
aisle,  where  the  strong  light  fell  upon  her  face 
lifted  to  his,  saying  "I'll  take  you  there,"  as 
though  there  were  no  question  now  of  all  days 
being  theirs. 

"Alida,"  he  said,  stopping  her,  "do  you  re 
member  when  I  heard  you  say  that  first,  'some 
day  together,  hand  in  hand'?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  softly,  looking  down;  "but 
it  was  not  meant  for  you  then." 

"I  thought  it  was,"  he  answered.  "I  knew  it 
was." 

"But  you  had  only  seen  the  back  of  my  head. " 

"And  you  had  not  seen  me  at  all,  and  yet  you 
were  singing  to  me  all  the  while,  were  you  not?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered;  "I  don't  know." 

"Tell  me  some  more  about  ancestors,"  he  said, 
laughing,  as  they  moved  on  again,  and  he  was 
not  the  first  who  had  taken  pleasure  in  Alida's 
narratives,  irrespective  of  their  purport. 

"I  don't  know  any  more  about  the  De  Wints, " 
she  said,  "and  the  Van  Wandeleers  would  not 
interest  you." 

"And  when  have  I  shown  a  lack  of  interest  in 
Van  Wandeleers?"  he  asked,  reproachfully. 


At  the  Tomb  of  a  Bishop       315 

"Then  I  shall  tell  you  of  my  favorite  who  was 
a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  He  does  not  appear  to 
have  had  a  first  name,  and  Cousin  Caroline  hates 
him  because  he  was  here  in  1647,  three  years 
before  there  was  a  De  Wint  in  the  colony.  When 
two  people  sued  each  other  he  always  appointed 
some  one  to  reconcile  them,  and  if  they  refused 
to  be  reconciled  he  fined  them  each  so  many 
beavers  that  he  grew  enormously  rich  for  those 
simple  days,  and  bought  acres  and  acres  of  land 
on  Broadway." 

' '  Which  he  sold  again  for  other  beavers, ' '  added 
Anthony.  "He  must  have  been  a  man  of  great 
intelligence  as  well  as  a  practical  politician." 

"You  need  not  try  to  disparage  him,"  said 
Alida,  "for  I  revere  him  highly.  He  married 
his  own  widow." 

"That  was  rather  clever,  I  admit.  How  did 
he  manage  it?" 

"Oh,  just  by  being  captured  by  the  Indians 
and  allowing  himself  to  be  thought  dead  till  his 
wife  married  again,  and  the  second  husband  fell 
into  a  well.  Then  he  came  back  and  they  had 
another  wedding — all  within  a  year." 

"I  don't  wonder  you  are  proud  of  such  an 
enterprising  forefather." 

"Of  course,"  she  admitted,  "it  would  not  be 
much  if  it  happened  now,  but  being  in  1649 
makes  us  quite  historical." 


316     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Somehow,"  said  Anthony,  reflectively,  "I 
can't  feel  great  enthusiasm  for  that  widow." 

"Nor  I,"  confessed  Alida,  laughing.  "But 
then  we  don't  know  all  the  circumstances." 

"Yes,  the  beavers  may  have  been  a  complica 
tion.  I  wonder  what  became  of  them." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  the  moths  got  into  them,  or 
he  invested  them  badly.  As  a  family,  we  have 
none  of  us  been  able  to  keep  our  beavers  when 
we  had  them;  it  did  not  seem  to  make  so  much 
difference,  being  poor,  when  mother  was  a  girl, 
but  now  you  know  it  makes  a  great  difference." 

"I  don't  believe  it  would  to  you,"  he  said,  and 
she  answered,  quickly,  "Oh,  I  was  not  thinking 
of  myself,  I  am  used  to  being  poor,  I  like  it." 
But  as  the  avowal  afforded  him  open  amusement, 
she  went  on,  "I  suppose  I  should  not  call  it  pov 
erty,  for  I  have  always  had  everything  I  could 
possibly  want,  even  since  the  Guardian  and  Trus 
tee  has  cut  our  income  down  nearly  one  half. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Guardian  and  Trustee?" 

"Oh,  yes,  as  a  leading  financial  institution,  I 
know  it  very  well." 

"You  can't  unless  they  take  care  of  your  prop 
erty  and  give  you  two  per  cent,"  she  answered, 
sadly.  "I  should  never  have  had  anything  pretty 
if  it  had  not  been  for — "  she  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  as  an  interesting  coincidence  occurred  to 
her,  ended — "if  it  had  not  been  for  you." 


At  the  Tomb  of  a  Bishop 

"Forme?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  laughing;  "it  sounds  improb 
able  I  know,  but  it  is  true.  Now  let  us  go  and 
look  at  the  Bishop!  I  have  forgotten  exactly 
where  they  keep  him." 

"Is  he  in  a  cage?" 

"No,  in  a  sort  of  pen." 

He  was  not  permitted  a  close  examination  of 
the  reredos,  as  Alida,  holding  such  curiosity  pro 
fane,  led  the  way  across  the  church  to  a  narrow 
doorway  in  the  western  wall.  And  when  they 
passed  through  into  the  room  where  the  good 
Bishop  lies  in  sculptured  effigy,  they  found  him 
quite  alone  behind  the  iron  railing,  his  eyes  dis 
creetly  skyward. 

The  apartment  is  a  small  one,  and  the  narrow 
door  into  the  church  but  little  used.  And  the 
statue,  which  is  well  thought  of  as  a  work  of  art, 
repays  five  minutes  passed  before  it — or  even  ten. 

"I  did  not  see  the  Bishop  at  all,  did  you?"  said 
Anthony,  when  they  were  in  the  church  once 
more. 

"No,"  said  Alida,  straightening  her  veil,  "you 
would  not  let  me." 

She  walked  so  rapidly  that  a  row  of  little  doors 
might  have  been  passed  unnoticed,  and  when  he 
protested  against  the  pace,  she  expressed  con 
cern  at  being  late  for  lunch. 

"But  I  have  no  idea  of  being  shaken  off  so 


318    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

soon,"  he  announced,  quickening  his  step 
to  come  beside  her;  "besides  there  is  some 
thing  rather  important  I  think  you  ought  to 
know." 

"You  may  tell  it  to  me  another  time,"  she 
said,  suspecting  insincerity,  "perhaps  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"It  will  be  too  late  then,"  he  answered,  with 
a  note  of  pathos  that  would  have  made  a  harder 
heart  than  hers  relent. 

"I  did  not  think  you  were  in  earnest,"  she 
began,  repentantly;  "of  course  I  want  to  hear." 

"Then  listen,"  he  went  on;  "I  am  awfully 
hungry." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No,  only  the  beginning;  the  rest  will  be  in 
French." 

They  stood  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  porch  a 
moment  to  watch  the  mid-day  movement  of 
Broadway,  while  eyes  and  ears  became  adjusted 
to  the  sudden  burst  of  light  and  noise.  It  was 
the  time  of  relaxation  and  refreshment,  though 
a  stranger  might  not  have  guessed  it,  a  time  of 
cigarettes  and  apples,  of  nose  bags  andfl/ats  des 
jours,  from  Delmonico  of  the  past,  smiling  many 
headed  across  fifty  tables,  to  Delmonico  of  the 
future,  dispensing  hot  waffles  from  a  barrow. 
Every  one  was  thinking,  among  other  things,  of 
lunch,  those  who  were  not  to  lunch  perhaps  hard- 


At  the  Tomb  of  a  Bishop       319 

est  of  all.  But  his  luck  was  bad,  indeed,  who 
could  not  at  least  contribute  a  banana  to  the 
atmosphere  of  nutriment. 

It  was  one  o'clock,  and  before  the  single  stroke 
a  bar  of  sweet  old  music  came  to  the  senses  like 
a  whiff  of  hay.  The  sky  between  the  granite 
cliffs  was  blue  as  aniline,  the  steam  clouds  white; 
the  flags  stood  straight  out  from  the  west.  Above 
and  through  the  hurry  of  the  street  one  felt  the 
stir  of  wider  movements  on  river  and  bay  and 
sea,  of  barge  and  brig,  lighter  and  liner,  trader 
and  tramp,  red  rust  upon  the  bow,  white  salt 
upon  the  stack,  bearing  the  tributes  to  the  tithing 
house.  It  was  impossible  to  resist  the  impulse 
of  it.  It  was  impossible  to  stand  still. 

"I  think,"  said  Alida,  looking  about  her,  "that 
after  all  I  should  like  to  be  a  gold  bug." 

"Why  don't  you  say  an  octopus  at  once?" 
inquired  Anthony. 

"Because  that  would  be  too  ambitious.  I 
should  be  satisfied  as  just  an  ordinary  gold  bug, 
running  in  and  out  of  banks,  and  climbing  over 
heaps  and  heaps  of  money  just  for  the  sake  of 
touching  it." 

Through  the  railing  a  lean  man  looked  at  them 
like  a  wild  thing  from  a  cage.  He  had  a  tray  in 
his  hand,  and  discerning  something  in  them  to 
inspire  confidence,  he  held  up  a  card  of  collar 
buttons. 


320    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"Three  cents  apiece,  two  for  five,"  he  said, 
mechanically,  but  more  by  way  of  salutation  than 
in  hope  of  trade. 

"Come  in  here;  you  are  just  the  man  I  am 
looking  for,"  called  Anthony,  and  as  the  lean 
man  shuffled  through  the  gate,  he  added,  "I  am 
not  in  need  of  collar  buttons,  but  I  should  like 
an  automobile." 

"Ah,  go  chase  yourself!"  replied  the  lean  man, 
sullenly,  perceiving,  as  he  thought,  an  ill-timed 
jest.  But  he  brightened  when  it  was  made  clear 
that  he  was  wanted  to  go  to  Broad  Street  for  a 
cab. 

"Here  is  a  quarter  in  token  of  good  faith," 
said  Anthony. 

"All  right,"  the  man  responded,  depositing  his 
tray  in  a  corner,  "and  this  here  is  my  collateral. 
That's  business,  ain't  it?" 

"Excellent,  but  what  is  to  prevent  our  running 
off  with  the  securities?" 

"You  will  get  stuck  bad  if  you  do,"  replied 
the  merchant,  grinning.  "You  couldn't  sell  a 
button  to-day  if  there  was  a  scrip  dividend  with 
every  one." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  just  the  market's  off.  I  never 
see  buttons  flatter.  I  missed  it  not  going  into 
rubber  pigs,  they're  on  the  jump." 

"Indeed  they  are,"  put  in  Alida,  who  took  an 


At  the  Tomb  of  a  Bishop       321 

interest  in  the  curbstone  market.  "I  thought  at 
first  they  must  be  frogs." 

"That's  right,"  agreed  the  vendor,  turning  to 
her.  "I  guess  the  folks  that  buys  'em  never 
seen  a  pig.  It's  just  a  boom,  that's  all  it  is;  but 
there's  a  puzzle  coming  out  to-morrow  that's 
going  to  knock  'em  silly;  I've  got  a  tip." 

"I  suppose  you  are  in  on  that,"  suggested 
Anthony,  but  the  lean  man  shook  his  head. 

"Naw,"  he  replied,  "I  haven't  got  the  mar- 
gin." 

"That's  too  bad,"  said  Anthony,  and  the  other 
shuffled  off  to  get  the  cab. 

Alida  became  thoughtful  when  the  man  had 
gone  upon  his  errand.  Once  or  twice  she  seemed 
about  to  say  something  that  was  to  cost  an  effort, 
but  what  she  did  say  finally,  was:  "I  take  back 
all  I  said  about  being  a  gold  bug,  I'd  rather  be 
an  Anarchist."  Somehow,  behind  the  lean  face 
at  the  bars  the  granite  banks  had  grown  a  trifle 
less  attractive. 

Presently  the  messenger  came  breathlessly 
back  to  say  that  the  cab,  delayed  in  Wall  Street 
by  temporary  complication  with  a  truck,  would 
be  along  directly. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Anthony;  "and,  by  the 
way,  here  is  something  a  lady  left  for  you." 

"That  be  hanged  for  a  yarn,"  replied  the  seller 
of  buttons,  and  perceiving  his  hand  to  contain  a 


The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

respectable  margin  for  one  who  would  speculate 
in  puzzles,  he  asked,  in  bewilderment,  "Say, 
boss,  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do  for  this?" 

"Climb  out  of  the  hole  you  are  in,  pardner," 
said  Anthony,  laying  a  hand  upon  the  shabby 
shoulder.  "Climb  out  and  stay  out." 

Before  they  mounted  to  the  automobile,  Alida 
turned  for  a  last  look  at  the  lean  speculator. 

"I  really  believe,"  she  said  to  Anthony,  "that 
he  is  giving  all  his  collar  buttons  to  the  shoelace 
man." 

"That  is  just  because  he  is  poor  himself,"  said 
Anthony.  "And  yet  you  want  to  do  away  with 
poverty  and  be  an  Anarchist." 

"I  don't,"  replied  Alida,  "I  want  to  be  what 
ever  you  are." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  MARKET  CLOSES  STRONG 

Beside  a  window  in  an  upper  room  they  found 
a  waiter  rearranging  a  table  which  had  just  been 
vacated. 

"Is  this  for  any  one  in  particular?"  asked 
Anthony. 

"For  monsieur  and  madame,"  replied  the 
Frenchman,  in  the  spirit  of  diplomacy,  at  the 
same  time  drawing  back  a  chair. 

Alida  took  off  her  gloves  and  laid  them  by  the 
water  bottle  together  with  her  pocket-book  con 
taining  eighteen  cents.  There  was  an  odd  sen 
sation  of  domesticity  in  facing  Anthony  across  a 
table  with  bread  and  salt  between  them  that 
brought  a  becoming  flush  to  her  cheeks,  and 
her  eyes  were  bright  with  a  child's  elation  in  a 
treat. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  invited  me,"  she  said;  "it 
is  just  wrong  enough  to  be  nice." 

Anthony  waved  a  bill  of  fare  aside,  protesting 
that  they  were  there  for  lunch  and  not  to  go  to 
market. 

"Perfectly,"  replied  the  waiter,  who  was  a 
person  of  discernment.  "In  that  case  monsieur 
323 


324     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

and  madame  will  doubtless  begin  with  clear,  green 
turtle  consomme  in  cups?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Anthony.     "What  then?" 

"That  shall  be  followed,  perhaps,  by  an  ome 
lette  demi  souffl£  with  clams,  which  madame  will 
find  excellent.  After  this  will  come  a  partridge 
and  salad,  which  with  some  strawberries,  will  be 
quite  enough.  The  wine  will  be  a  demi  of  Yquem, 
and  a  little  taste  of  something  with  the  coffee  if 
desired." 

"That  is  not  a  lunch,"  said  Anthony,  in  French, 
"it  is  a  sonnet." 

"Merely  an  epigram,  monsieur,"  replied  the 
waiter,  modestly;  "it  is  only  for  the  dinner  that 
one  cries  in  poesy." 

Alida  smiled,  but  turned  her  head  toward  the 
window.  The  waiter's  fancy  was  amusing,  yet 
it  told  her  something  more.  Some  people  made 
every  one  they  met  a  little  better,  a  little  cleverer, 
a  little  happier  for  the  meeting. 

"I  confess  to  feeling  rather  proud,"  said 
Anthony;  "if  I  had  been  alone  he  would  have 
given  me  chops  and  bottled  stout.  It  is  all  your 
influence." 

"Indeed  it  is  not,"  she  protested.  "If  I  were 
alone  I  could  have  had  nothing  but  chocolate  ice 
cream." 

It  interested  her  to  determine  at  which  table 
she  had  lunched  with  the  Brisbanes  after  the 


The  Market  Closes  Strong      325 

visit  to  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  Anthony  sug 
gested  that  they  send  a  scout  in  search  of  B.  J., 
who  might  be  somewhere  in  the  building.  To 
this  Alida  replied  that  Mr.  Brisbane  was  not  in 
the  city,  and  the  secret  of  the  telegram  having 
been  left  to  her  discretion,  she  divulged  it  in  an 
undertone. 

"Of  course  I  should  not  have  told  any  one 
else,"  she  said,  beginning  to  butter  a  fragment 
of  bread,  for  her  appetite  was  excellent,  "because 
it  was  only  by  an  accident  that  I  knew  its  mean 
ing.  ' ' 

"It  was  rather  a  risky  piece  of  theatrical  busi 
ness,"  commented  Anthony,  "and  some  day  I 
am  afraid  our  friend  B.  J.  will  trust  his  luck  too 
far." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  she  asked  with  in 
terest. 

"I  do  not  think  he  should  have  left  town  to 
day,  and  I  suspect  him  of  liking  the  idea  of  a 
secret  expedition.  Probably  he  will  not  be  sorry 
to  get  back  this  afternoon  on  the  nick  of  time 
for  the  meeting.  He  has  a  weakness  for  effective 
entrances." 

"Yes,  Bessie  always  says  he  cares  less  for 
money  than  for  the  fun  of  making  it.  I  sent  him 
back  the  check." 

"And  have  you  heard  from  him?" 

"No,  but  he  said  last  night  he  had  'a  bottle 


326    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

on  the  ice  for  me.'  What  do  you  think  he 
meant?" 

"That  the  money  was  still  to  your  credit,  I 
suppose,"  he  answered,  laughing.  "We  shall 
have  to  find  a  way  for  you  to  get  even  with  B.  J." 

"That  is  not  very  likely,"  she  replied;  "I 
always  thought  the  fable  of  the  lion  and  the 
mouse  a  silly  one." 

"I  thought  it  was  a  lion  and  a  lamb." 

"I  don't  mean  that;  I  mean  the  one  in  which 
the  lion  is  caught  in  a  net  and  the  mouse,  to 
whom  he  has  done  an  act  of  kindness,  gnaws  the 
string  and  lets  him  out." 

"Good  for  the  mouse!  The  moral  is:  never 
refuse  a  favor  from  a  lion,  for  you  can't  tell  how 
soon  you  may  have  it  in  your  power  to  do  him  a 
greater  one." 

"That  is  not  the  moral  at  all!" 

"Oh,  yes,  it  is — from  the  mouse's  standpoint." 

After  a  diversion,  caused  by  the  appearance  of 
the  consomme,  Alida  said:  "I  do  wish  Mr.  Jacob 
had  done  something  for  Bell's  account  and  risk 
instead  of  mine." 

"Are  you  very  fond  of  Bell?"  he  asked. 

Yes,  Alida  was  very  fond  of  Bell;  they  had 
known  each  other  so  long;  they  had  been  at 
school  together,  and  her  greatest  temptation  to 
keep  her  fortune  had  been  the  thought  of  divid 
ing  it  with  Bell. 


The  Market  Closes  Strong      327 

"Let  us  wish  something  pleasant  for  her," 
suggested  Anthony,"and  who  knows  but  it  may 
come  true?" 

"I  wish  that  Dr.  Van  Gaasbeck  might  find  an 
opening  somewhere  away  from  New  York,  where 
no  one  has  ever  heard  of  Kenilworth  Place.  I 
wish  them  just  money  enough  to  make  a  start." 

"That  sounds  to  me  a  little  mean  for  a  wish," 
he  said. 

"But  it  is  not  at  all,  it  is  only  what  they  would 
wish  for  themselves." 

"Then  let  us  go  on  to  Miss  Brisbane.  What 
shall  we  give  her?" 

"I  cannot  think  of  anything  she  wants," 
replied  Alida,  "unless  it  is  a  castle  in  Devon 
shire." 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  too  late  with  that,"  he 
rejoined,  laughing,  "Lord  Wensdale  is  ahead  of 
you." 

"Oh,  what  makes  you  think  so?" 

"A  remark  made  by  his  lordship  that  if  all 
went  well  he  hoped  his  house  would  become  a 
rendezvous  for  selected  Americans,  and  from 
observation  I  should  say  all  is  going  well." 

"But  they  have  known  each  other  such  a  short 
time — only  since  New  Year's  Day!" 

"Your  argument  is  good,  but  not  unanswer 
able,"  he  said,  whereat  they  both  laughed 
merrily.  And  so  they  laughed  again  and  again ; 


328    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

at  everything  and  nothing;  at  themselves  and 
at  the  waiter,  and  at  that  good  old  chef  the 
Future,  whose  menu  is  inexhaustible — when  one 
is  young. 

Once  they  were  interested  to  observe  a  drama 
in  pantomime  at  a  nearby  table,  where  four  stout 
gentlemen  lunched  well.  They  had  been  study 
ing  the  quartette  as  types,  sublimating  them 
into  marionettes  who  ate  for  their  amusement, 
which  made  the  de'nofitnent  doubly  entertaining. 
Coffee  had  come,  and  the  four  chairs  were  pushed 
slightly  back,  when  a  young  man  glided  depre- 
catingly  into  the  room,  glanced  about,  and 
making  his  way  to  the  side  of  the  portly  host, 
said  something  in  an  undertone.  Immediately 
there  followed  a  rapid  interchange  of  question 
and  answer,  and  the  four  heads  came  together 
across  the  cups.  Then  all  four  gentlemen  rose 
in  haste  and  went  out. 

"Evidently  something  has  gone  wrong  with 
our  friends,"  said  Anthony,  and  Alida  suggested, 
hopefully:  "Perhaps  their  cashier  has  run  away 
to  Canada.  Would  it  not  be  fun  if  we  should 
read  an  account  of  it  in  the  papers?" 

"More  likely  cotton  has  become  strong,"  he 
speculated. 

"Or  iron  weak,"  added  Alida,  who  felt  herself 
thoroughly  commercial. 

Meanwhile  their  waiter  had  taken  a  flyer  on 


The  Market  Closes  Strong      329 

his  own  account.  From  heaven  knows  where  he 
had  produced  a  rose,  large,  red,  and  dewy. 

"It  is  as  madame  pleases,"  he  said,  respect 
fully,  as  he  laid  his  tribute  before  Alida,  "but 
perhaps — "  and  when  the  bill  had  been  paid  he 
showed  no  evidence  of  dissatisfaction  with  his 
venture. 

Two  men,  descending  with  them  in  the  ele 
vator,  engaged  in  heated  conversation. 

"It  looks  to  me  as  if  the  whole  thing  were 
about  to  burst,"  said  one,  "and  if  it  does,  look 
out  for  splinters!" 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  other;  "I  never 
knew  a  man  who  took  better  care  of  himself  than 
B.  J.  Brisbane.  I'll  bet  a  hat  he  is  as  well  as 
either  you  or  I  this  minute. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  put  in  Anthony,  as 
a  man  may  when  common  interests  are  involved, 
"is  Brisbane  reported  ill?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  pessimist,  civilly,  includ 
ing  Alida  in  his  audience,  "they  say  he  had  a 
stroke  of  some  sort  in  his  office  at  noon.  They 
say  that  even  Harris  Fosdick  had  to  come  away 
without  seeing  him." 

"That  don't  prove  anything,"  rejoined  the 
optimist,  and  Anthony  remarked:  "The  story  is 
likely  to  be  untrue.  Brisbane  was  probably  not 
in  his  office  at  noon." 

"How  do  you  know?"  demanded  both  at  once. 


The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"I  don't  know  positively." 

Upon  the  steps,  as  the  elevator  passengers 
went  out  together,  the  optimist  encountering  an 
acquaintance  coming  in,  exclaimed:  "Say,  Bris 
bane  is  all  right!  I  have  just  had  it  straight 
from  the  inside;  he  wasn't  even  in  his  office  at 
noon." 

"Sure?     Where  did  you  get  it." 

"I'm  not  at  liberty  to  tell." 

"But  the  Walseheimer  crowd  are  pounding 
things  on  "Change!" 

"Never  mind,  my  tip  is  dead  right!" 

"Come,"  whispered  Anthony,  "we  are  becom 
ing  information  bureaus." 

"I  never  heard  such  a  story-teller  in  my  life," 
Alida  said,  indignantly,  as  they  stepped  out  on 
the  asphalt  of  Beaver  Street  to  avoid  the  gather 
ing  groups  upon  the  narrow  sidewalk.  Mean 
while  the  automobile  driver,  catching  sight  of 
his  fares,  folded  a  newspaper  and  prepared  for 
action. 

As  the  clumsy  vehicle  wheeled,  backed,  paused, 
and  darted  forward,  scattering  foot  passengers 
to  right  and  left,  the  fares  were  compelled  to 
take  refuge  on  the  broad  steps  of  the  Corn 
Exchange  bank.  When  they  had  climbed  into 
their  seats  late  comers,  supposing  them  to  be 
the  center  of  interest,  pressed  closer  for  a 
better  view. 


The  Market  Closes  Strong      331 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  a  man  who 
carried  a  cane. 

"Nawthing, "  replied  another  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets.  On  Delmonico's  steps  the  pessimist 
still  talked  loudly,  and  twenty  stopped  to  listen. 

Then,  from  everywhere  at  once,  there  arose  a 
clamor.  From  Broadway  and  from  Bowling 
Green,  from  Broad  Street  and  the  far-off  ferries 
came  the  chorus: 

"Extra!     Extra!     Extra!" 

Like  dogs  who  wake  each  other  in  the  night 
and  spread  the  alarm  from  farm  to  farm,  shrill 
voice  and  harsh  voice  took  up  the  cry,  baying  it, 
yelping  it,  ringing  the  changes  on  it.  From 
every  corner  came  the  flash  of  the  white,  damp 
sheets  of  the  newspapers.  One  could  almost 
smell  the  ink,  and  one  purblind  could  read  the 
print  across  the  street: 

"B.   J.   BRISBANE  STRICKEN." 

Extra!  Extra!  Extra!  It  was  as  though  the 
box  of  Pandora  had  been  newly  opened. 

"It  is  not  true,"  said  Alida,  her  eyes  bright 
with  excitement.  "It  can't  be  true!" 

"Stop!"  ordered  Anthony,  for  the  cab  was 
upon  its  way  up  Broad  Street  in  the  old  track  of 
the  yellow  sleigh,  and  leaning  out  he  bought  a 
paper  from  a  yelling  boy,  the  Evening  Bonfire, 
terror  of  octopi ! 

"B.   J.   BRISBANE  STRICKEN." 


332    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

The  letters,  a  foot  long,  were  in  red,  and  sug 
gested  prudence  to  those  nice  in  the  matter  of 
gloves,  but  neither  Alida  nor  Anthony  considered 
theirs  as  they  held  the  page  between  them,  and 
with  their  heads  close  together,  read  the  meager 
text  that  justified  the  headline. 

"  'A  startling  rumor  is  in  circulation  that  B.  J. 
Brisbane  was  taken  violently  ill  in  his  office  at 
fifteen  minutes  after  twelve  to-day  while  in  the 
act  of  lighting  a  cigar.'  ' 

"He  does  not  smoke  cigars!"  exclaimed  Alida. 

"I'm  sure  he  does  not,"  assented  Anthony. 

"  'The  attack  is  reported  to  be  apoplexy,  and 
is  said  to  have  followed  a  lighter  stroke  which 
took  place  early  last  evening.'  ' 

"Oh,  he  was  perfectly  well  then,  or  he  would 
not  have  gone  to  the  theater." 

"There  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  the  whole 
story,"  asserted  Anthony;  "see  what  they  say 
themselves." 

"  'Both  at  Mr.  Brisbane's  office  and  at  his 
residence  the  report  is  still  strenuously  denied, 
though  the  reasons  given  for  his  failure  to  show 
himself  are  far  from  convincing. '  ' 

The  remainder  of  the  column  was  composed  of 
words  hurriedly  thrown  together  into  phrases. 
"Gigantic  interests."  "Failure  of  the  Trans 
continental  Deal."  "Disaster."  "Panic." 
"Ruin!" 


The  Market  Closes  Strong       333 

"Extra!     Extra!     All  about  B.  J.  Brisbane!" 

"Extra!  Extra!  All  about  the  Horrible 
Panic!" 

"Extra!  Extra!  All  about  the  Terrible 
Smash!" 

"Go  up  as  far  as  the  Exchange,"  commanded 
Anthony,  "and  don't  go  too  fast." 

There  was  no  visible  commotion  though  the 
street  was  crowded,  sidewalk  and  carriage  way, 
and  men  bought  papers  eagerly.  Office  t  boys 
sent  out  for  copies  read  the  news  themselves 
while  hastening  back.  Brokers  hurried  from 
restaurants  still  chewing,  and  walking  briskly. 
Windows  were  opened,  cabs  drew  up,  banana 
barrows  sought  safety.  The  street  was  trem 
bling  on  the  verge  of  a  disaster — or  a  hoax. 

"It's  all  a  fake,"  one  man  said,  confidently, 
though  his  face  was  set. 

"That's  right,"  another  added;  "the  bears 
have  had  this  up  their  sleeve  all  day." 

"You  see  they  don't  believe  it,"  cried 
Alida,  leaning  out  across  the  door  in  her  excite 
ment. 

"Extra!     Extra!     Extra!" 

"It's  a  fake!"  "It's  a  lie!"  "I  know  it  to 
be  true!"  "I've  seen  a  private  wire!"  "I  bet 
you  two  to  one !"  "Say,  Brisbane's  in  his  office !" 
"He's  on  "Change."  "I'll  bet— "  "You  lie." 
Every  minute  the  talk  grew  louder,  every  minute 


334    Tfie  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

the  excitement  grew,  as  by  tens  and  scores  the 
crowd  increased. 

In  front  of  the  Exchange  the  automobile 
stopped  suddenly,  to  avoid  collision  with  a  han 
som  cab,  which  had  turned  in  from  Wall  Street 
at  a  reckless  pace.  It  almost  seemed  that  the 
driver  had  wilfully  risked  disaster,  and  as  the 
horse  fell  back  upon  its  haunches  he  stood  up, 
calling  out  reproaches  with  unnecessary  violence. 

"What  do  you  think  you've  got  there,  any 
way?"  he  asked,  "a  steam  roller?" 

Alida  noticed  his  face  to  be  red  as  that  of  a 
comic  policeman  on  the  stage,  and  fancied  that 
he  spoke  with  an  eye  to  the  audience  in  a  man 
ner  distinctly  histrionic.  But  presently,  glancing 
at  the  occupants  of  the  hansom,  her  interest  in 
its  driver  ended.  There  were  two  men  in  the 
cab,  one  whom  she  was  sure  she  did  not  know, 
although  his  dark  features,  beneath  an  aggres 
sively  shiny  hat,  were  oddly  familiar,  and  another 
whom  Alida  recognized  with  a  thrill  of  triumph. 
He  wore  a  heavy,  fur-lined  overcoat,  and  where 
his  hat  was  pushed  back  from  his  forehead  there 
hung  the  curl  suggestive  of  a  dollar  mark. 

"It  is  Mr.  Brisbane  himself!"  she  cried. 

"Yes,  B.  J.  sure  enough!"  said  Anthony, 
scarcely  less  elated.  "They  can't  catch  that 
particular  sort  of  weasel  sleeping.  By  Jove,  the 
fun  has  just  begun!" 


The  Market  Closes  Strong      335 

Then  some  one  fairly  yelled:  "There's  Bris 
bane!"  and  immediately  the  two  vehicles  became 
the  center  of  a  rapidly  increasing  throng.  A 
hundred,  two  hundred,  five  hundred  eager, 
breathing  men,  before  the  hundreds  could  be  told 
off  on  the  fingers. 

The  chief  figure  in  the  cab  bent  forward,  smil 
ing  faintly,  as  though  the  commotion  he  had 
created  amused  him,  and  the  driver,  who  ap 
peared  anxious  to  recover  something  he  had 
dropped,  made  no  effort  to  continue  on  his  way. 

"One  hundred  and  ten  for  five  hundred  Big 
B." 

"Sold!" 

"One  hundred  and  twelve  for  a  thousand  or 
any  part!" 

"Sold!" 

"One  hundred  and  fourteen — " 

"Sold!" 

"Oh,  is  it  not  exciting,"  cried  Alida,  leaning 
out  across  the  doors;  "did  you  ever  see  any 
thing  like  it?  But  how  pale  he  is!" 

Meanwhile,  the  tumult  in  the  Exchange  became 
a  pandemonium  to  make  the  walls  reverberate. 
Excited  members  struggling  to  get  in  encountered 
others  coming  out.  The  curbstone  brokers  from 
the  Mills  Building  ran  in  a  body  to  join  the  fray. 
Men  leaped  into  the  air  offering  to  buy  or  sell; 
they  waved  their  arms  and  scribbled  contracts  on 


336     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

their  cuffs.  Hats  were  knocked  off  and  trampled 
under  foot.  From  upper  windows  junior  clerks 
made  sky  rockets  with  ticker  tape. 

The  man  with  a  dollar  mark  had  sank  back 
into  the  cab,  his  pale  face  growing  paler  every 
moment,  but  when  some  one  shouted,  "How  is 
B.  J.  Brisbane?"  he  smiled  again,  and  at  the 
bellowed  chorus,  "He's  all  right!"  he  rose  with 
an  apparent  effort,  stepping  forward  as  though 
intending  to  descend,  stood  irresolute  for  a 
moment,  swayed,  and  caught  the  dash-board  for 
support. 

"By  George,  I  don't  half  like  it  yet,"  said 
some  one  near  the  automobile.  His  collar,  torn 
open,  had  evidently  seen  hard  usage.  "The 
Walseheimer  clique  are  going  short  of  the  whole 
list." 

"Let  'em  sell!  We'll  make  them  sick  before 
they're  through  with  it." 

"Do  look  at  Mr.  Brisbane!"  cried  Alida. 
"I'm  sure  he  is  not  well!  See,  he  can  hardly 
stand." 

"No,  he  is  all  right." 

The  man  of  the  dollar  mark  drew  himself 
erect,  threw  back  one  lapel  of  his  great  fur  coat, 
and  paused  an  instant  in  the  act  of  stepping 
down.  It  almost  seemed  that  he  had  come  there 
to  be  seen,  to  confute  his  enemies,  and  wanted 
to  make  sure  that  everybody  should  recognize 


The  Market  Closes  Strong      337 

him.  Then  with  all  eyes  turned  upon  him,  his 
features  underwent  a  change,  became  distorted, 
twitched  convulsively.  His  mouth  fell  open  and 
grew  set,  his  eyes  began  to  roll,  and  falling  for 
ward  he  would  have  pitched  headlong  to  the 
pavement  had  not  the  other  in  the  cab  leaned 
out  to  catch  him.  As  he  lay  back  rigid  on  the 
seat,  his  head  jerked  painfully  toward  one 
shoulder. 

For  a  moment,  for  a  score  of  heart  beats,  the 
silence  of  an  overpowering  horror  fell,  and  break 
ing  it  the  other  man  called  in  a  voice  that  could 
be  heard  a  block:  "Drive  to  a  doctor,  and  drive 
like  hell!  B.  J.  Brisbane  is  dying!" 

Alida  and  Anthony  were  standing.  They  had 
thrown  back  the  doors,  and  from  the  higher  level 
of  the  platform  could  watch  every  movement  of 
the  stricken  man  within  the  hansom,  every  spasm, 
every  jerk  of  the  head. 

"We  will  follow  to  the  doctor's,"  he  assured 
her;  "we  will  do  everything  that  can  be  done." 
But  Alida,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  writhing 
figure,  did  not  appear  to  hear.  In  her  excite 
ment  she  would  have  lost  her  foothold  on  the 
narrow  ledge  if  he  had  not  held  her  arm. 

"Drive  on,"  the  dark  man  shouted  louder  than 
before.  "Make  way  there,  damn  you  all!  Make 
way!" 

Then    something    happened    rather    new    on 


33  8     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

'Change.  A  young  lady  in  a  neat  gray  tailor 
suit,  poised  on  the  pilot  of  an  automobile,  held 
up  her  muff  as  one  who  has  authority. 

"Don't  let  them  go!"  commanded  Miss  Van 
Wandeleer,  forgetting  everything  else  in  the  ela 
tion  of  a  great  discovery.  "That  is  not  Mr.  Bris 
bane  in  the  cab,  that  is  an  actor  named  Volkert! 
I  tell  you  that  is  not  Mr.  Brisbane!" 

Only  a  few  of  those  nearest  heard,  but  to  more 
than  one  the  mere  suggestion  meant  financial  life 
or  death.  What  followed  was  like  a  whirlwind 
rising  from  the  ground,  and  like  a  whirlwind  it 
was  over  before  the  mind  had  time  to  realize  it. 
Alida,  from  the  corner  where  she  shrank,  saw  a 
tidal  wave  of  heads  and  shoulders  press  against 
the  hansom.  She  saw  the  brown  horse  rear  and 
plunge  and  Patrick  Rooney,  captain  of  the  supes, 
lean  out  to  strike  him  with  a  heavy  stick.  She 
saw  Anthony  with  his  hat  off  in  the  thick  of  it, 
holding  back  excited  men  until  the  blue  arm  of 
authority  came  to  the  relief,  and  Edward  Vol 
kert,  divested  of  his  furs,  stood  glaring  tragic 
defiance  across  the  shoulders  of  a  cordon  of 
police.  From  the  Stock  Exchange  went  up  to 
heaven  the  mightiest  bull  yell  ever  known,  for 
Alida  had  saved  the  Transcontinental  deal. 

"Go  anywhere,"  panted  Anthony,  springing  in 
beside  her,  "go  anywhere  you  please,  but  stop  at 
a  hat  store  on  the  way." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  LAST 

There  was  in  Mrs.  Ruggles's  establishment  an 
unwritten  ukase  against  newspapers  at  the  break 
fast-table.  Nobody  ever  read  them  there,  nobody 
ever  thought  of  such  a  thing,  except,  of  course, 
upon  the  morning  after  election.  This  rule 
remained  in  rigid  force  until  half  past  nine,  from 
which  time  breakfast,  officially  past,  continued 
as  a  concession  rather  than  a  right.  Then  it  was 
that  little  Mr.  Ruggles  unfolded  his  Herald  with 
a  knowing  wink,  for  he  still  believed  it  rather 
rakish  to  affect  the  Herald.  Then  Miss  Deusen- 
bury  and  Miss  Toll,  who  took  the  Tribune  between 
them,  announced  every  morning  each  in  her  turn 
a  preference  for  the  supplement.  Then  Mrs. 
Van  Gaasbeck  read  the  Sun  with  a  satisfaction 
attributed  more  to  that  lady's  nature  than  her 
paper.  Grandma  Epps,  who  never  read  any 
thing,  did  not  come  to  breakfast.  Mrs.  Van 
Wandeleer's  taste  inclined  her  to  a  paper  that 
prints  alone  that  which  is  fit  for  publication. 
Cousin  Caroline  boldly  took  the  Morning  Jour 
nal.  "If  I  cannot  afford  to  read  what  is  going 
on,"  she  said,  "I  should  like  to  know  who  can?" 
339 


340    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

In  politics,  Miss  De  Wint  was  in  open  sympathy 
with  an  organization  wherein  her  father  and  her 
grandfather  had  been  sachems,  and  which  had 
made  her  mother's  uncle  mayor.  She  had  even 
been  suspected  of  a  cunningly  worded  request  for 
intercessory  prayer  which  had  trapped  the  rector 
into  a  petition  for  the  success  of  Tammany  Hall. 
Thus  it  was  that,  on  the  morning  following 
Alida's  experience  on  'Change,  her  godmother 
alone  possessed  a  spirited  representation  of  a 
young  lady  with  pretty  feet  standing  on  the  top 
of  an  automobile  amid  the  plaudits  of  a  multi 
tude. 

"  'WHO  WAS  THE  GIRL  IN  GRAY?'  "  she  sniffed, 
in  the  words    of   a  not  inconspicuous  headline, 
"  'Supposed  to  be  a  well-known  society  belle,'  ' 
she   quoted   further,   and    added   as   of   greater 
probability,  "Supposed  to  be  a  hussy!" 

"Hello,  what's  this!"  cried  little  Mr.  Ruggles. 
"By  George,  that  Broad  Street  incident  was  true! 
Didn't  believe  it  when  I  saw  it  in  the  papers  last 
night,  I  didn't,  on  my  word.  I  don't  believe 
ever  more  than  half  of  what  the  papers  say,"  and 
this  was  true  of  Mr.  Ruggles,  but  he  commonly 
believed  the  wrong  half. 

"Some  vulgar  practical  joke  among  the  brok 
ers,"  commented  Mrs.  Van  Wandeleer,  glancing 
languidly  at  her  more  conservative  account.  "I 
dislike  such  things  extremely." 


The  Last  341 

"The  Sun's  reports  are  always  so  delightful," 
murmured  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck;  "I  read  them  for 
the  English,"  and  the  doctor,  looking  over  his 
mother's  shoulder,  put  on  his  heavy  glasses  to 
get  in  touch  with  the  conversation. 

"Pretty  good,"  he  commented,  laughing; 
"Mr.  Volkert  should  have  been  there  as  an 
expert  on  fits;  don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Van 
Wandeleer?" 

."Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Alida,  reddening  furi 
ously.  She  would  have  given  a  good  deal  to 
have  had  a  paper  of  her  own.  But  nobody 
observed  the  blush.  Even  Miss  Toll  was  read 
ing  what  the  king  had  worn,  and  Miss  Deusenbury 
book  reviews. 

"By  the  way,  where  is  the  Volkert  boy?" 
inquired  Bella  Senior,  folding  up  a  rather  lengthy 
letter  from  a  friend  in  Ceylon,  and  Bell,  who  at 
a  side  table,  made  market  memoranda,  suggested 
that  he  had  probably  overslept  himself. 

"It  seems,"  announced  Mr.  Ruggles,  as  ever 
greatly  interested  in  that  which  least  concerned 
him,  "that  the  lady  was  Miss  Harriet  Waterhouse 
Wotherspoon,  a  well-known  writer." 

"Of  course,"  said  Miss  De  Wint,  with  biting 
irony,  "and  as  the  well-known  horse  came  round 
the  corner  he  upset  a  barrow  containing  a  num 
ber  of  well-known  bananas,  which  a  well-known 
newsboy  immediately  appropriated." 


342    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

"To  be  sure;  to  be  sure,"  chuckled  Mr.  Rug- 
gles,  with  appreciation,  and  Miss  De  Wint  went 
on  to  say,  correctively:  "The  girl  was  a  certain 
Tottie  Twinkingham  of  the  Alhambra,  which 
accounts  for  her  agility  in  climbing." 

"Where  did  she  climb?"  Alida  asked,  but  no 
one  answered,  and  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  read: 
"  'It  is  whispered  that  the  attractive  and  self- 
possessed  young  person  whose  timely  and  effec 
tive  appearance  contributed  so  much  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  occasion,  was  not  unconnected 
by  ties  of  blood  with  a  leading  manager  of  spec 
tacular  finance.  If  this  be  so,  her  taste  for  situ 
ations  is  explained,  and  papa  will  hardly  grudge 
the  diamond  necklace  so  conspicuously  deserved. ' 
Alida,  my  dear,  that  would  seem  to  indicate  your 
friend,  Miss  Brisbane,  would  it  not?" 

"Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  Alida,  "I  am  absolutely 
certain  that  it  was  not  Bessie." 

Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  raised  her  eyebrows. 
"The  paper  would  hardly  go  so  far  without  ex 
cellent  authority,"  she  said,  "and  you  know 
Western  people  do  not  see  things  just  as  we 
do." 

"Miss  Brisbane  is  a  girl  of  perfect  breeding," 
put  in  Cousin  Caroline,  springing  to  the  rescue. 
"I  should  as  soon  suspect  Alida  herself."  And 
Alida  felt  herself  grow  pale. 

She  had  dressed  with  more  than  wonted  atten- 


The  Last  343 

tion  to  detail  that  morning,  and  had  bestowed 
especial  thought  upon  her  hair,  for  this  was  to  be 
a  wonderful  day.  It  was  to  be,  after  yesterday, 
the  greatest  day  that  ever  dawned,  and  now  the 
stupid  papers  threatened  to  spoil  it  all.  She  had 
done  nothing  that  she  was  ashamed  of,  nothing 
that  she  would  not  do  again.  She  did  not  care 
if  every  one  in  the  world  knew  all  about  it,  every 
one  except  her  mother  and  her  godmother  and 
Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  and  a  few  others  who  did  not 
understand  her,  and  who  accused  her,  without 
knowing  it,  of  being  acrobatic  and  Western  and 
ill-bred.  Somebody  else  had  thought  her  brave 
and  courageous,  and  even  the  horrid  paper  had 
called  her  attractive  and  self-possessed.  Here 
no  one  had  a  word  except  in  criticism.  They 
even  seemed  to  lack  human  sympathy  for  the 
Transcontinental  deal. 

Meanwhile  the  Broad  Street  ripple,  having 
spent  its  strength  upon  the  placid  sands  of  Kenil- 
worth  Place,  subsided.  .Little  Mr.  Ruggles 
bustled  off  declaring  he  would  be  late  for  an 
appointment,  with  Bell  behind  him  to  brush  his 
shabby  little  hat.  The  doctor,  nicely  calculating 
seconds,  was  in  the  hall  before  the  front  door 
closed,  and  the  doctor's  mother  did  not  follow 
until  a  full  two  minutes  had  gone  by.  The  in 
evitable  had  met  Mrs.  Van  Gaasbeck  and  was 
negotiating  terms.  Then  everybody  rose  and 


344    TAe  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

went  their  several  ways,  and  the  great  day  shoul 
dered  its  pack  like  ever  other  day. 

Alida  did  not  leave  the  dining-room  with  the 
others,  but  lingered  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Edward 
Volkert,  who  supposedly,  had  overslept.  She 
had  dined  out  on  the  evening  before — a  night 
mare  dinner  of  commonplace  decorum.  She 
wanted  now  to  make  a  bargain  with  him.  It  was 
distasteful  to  her,  but  it  must  be  done  if  irrele 
vant  matters  were  not  to  intrude  themselves 
upon  their  betters. 

As  she  waited,  she  took  up  an  abandoned 
paper  and  read  the  exploits  of  The  Girl  in  Gray, 
she  of  the  pretty  feet.  It  was  a  consolation  to 
find  the  account  so  unlike  what  had  happened, 
and  the  varied  descriptions  of  herself  which  the 
reporter  had  been  able  to  glean  at  second  hand 
were  most  reassuringly  inaccurate.  With  a  little 
wisdom  and  a  great  deal  of  luck,  confession 
might  very  well  be  put  off  until — well,  until  it 
made  no  difference.  At  first  Alida  found  amuse 
ment  in  the  paper,  but  further  down  the  column 
her  face  grew  suddenly  serious.  Such  words  as 
conspiracies,  investigations,  trials,  occurred  with 
frequency,  and  further  on  she  saw  a  mention  of 
sentences  and  Sing  Sing.  Not  for  the  girl  in 
gray,  of  course,  everybody  had  such  good  words 
for  the  girl  in  gray  that  they  might  be  half  in 
love  with  her,  but  for  one  alluded  to  most  often 


The  Last  345 

as  the  poor  tool  who  was,  it  seemed,  predestined 
to  vicarious  suffering  on  the  behalf  of  certain 
wicked  persons  who  had  not  stopped  at  travesty 
of  death  to  serve  their  base  designs.  These,  it 
was  prophesied,  would  go  unpunished,  unless  a 
righteous  public  sentiment  could  be  aroused 
against  them,  while  the  trembling,  half-starved 
wretch — 

Alida  caught  her  breath.  It  had  not  before 
occurred  to  her  that  the  simple  exposure  of  a 
sham  illness  could  entail  serious  consequences 
upon  any  one.  Of  course  the  papers,  in  their 
sensational  way,  were  making  too  much  of  it. 
It  was  absurd  to  speak  of  such  things  as  crimes, 
but  it  would  be  a  relief  to  see  Volkert,  and  a 
much  greater  one  to  see  somebody  who  really 
knew. 

At  the  sound  of  the  front  door  opening  and  an 
approaching  step  upon  the  marble  of  the  hall, 
Alida  stopped  reading  and  looked  up.  Before 
her  stood  the  trembling  wretch  himself,  the  poor 
tool  in  his  proper,  though  disheveled  person,  and 
assuredly  he  appeared  to  be  half  starved. 

One  glance  would  have  been  enough  to  satisfy 
the  most  unobserving  that  Edward  Volkert  had 
not  overslept.  No  one  with  eyes  so  hollow  could 
have  slept  at  all.  No  one  with  raiment  so  dis 
ordered  could  have  been  recently  in  bed;  that  is, 
as  being  in  bed  is  generally  understood.  His 


346     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

face  was  grimy,  his  hair  uncombed,  his  linen  far 
below  reproach,  and  he  had  the  appearance  of 
one  who  has  been  sprinkled  with  straw. 

"Is  breakfast  over?"  he  inquired,  in  a  voice 
suggesting  bronchial  troubles. 

"Yes,"  replied  Alida,  regarding  him  with 
wonder,  "long  ago." 

Edward  Volkert  made  no  comment  on  this 
piece  of  information;  possibly  the  general  aspect 
of  the  table  had  prepared  him  for  it,  but  went  at 
once  to  the  pantry,  where  Alida  heard  him  rat 
tling  among  dishes.  Presently,  when  he  returned, 
he  had  compassed  a  sandwich  constructed  of  two 
cold  buckwheat  cakes. 

"What  did  you  have  for  breakfast?"  he  in 
quired,  somewhat  wistfully. 

Alida  would  have  liked  to  ask  several  ques 
tions,  but  knowing  that  whatever  Mr.  Volkert 
had  upon  his  mind  would  not  remain  long  a 
secret,  she  restrained  herself,  and  answered:  "I 
don't  remember;  several  things,  fish  and  kidneys 
and  something  else." 

"It  tastes  to  me  like  mutton  hash,"  replied  the 
poor  tool,  taking  another  bite. 

"Why  don't  you  ring  the  bell?"  Alida  asked, 
throwing  down  the  paper,  and  rising  to  perform 
an  act  of  bare  humanity. 

"Don't!"  cried  Volkert,  with  his  back  against 
the  bell,  "I  don't  think  Mary's  heart  could  stand 


The  Last  347 

the  jar.  I'm  a  pretty  object,  ain't  I?  Look  as 
though  I  had  been  out  all  night,  don't  I?" 

"You  don't  look  very  well,"  Alida  admitted. 
"Have  you  really  been  out  all  night?" 

"Worse  than  that,"  he  answered,  grinning, 
"I've  been  in  all  night,  in  the  bull  pen,  in  the 
cooler,  in  the  Church  Street  station  house." 

"In  the  station  house?" 

"That's  where,"  continued  Volkert,  openly 
gratified  at  Alida's  expression  of  dismay;  "you 
saw  me  nabbed." 

"Why,  yes,"  she  said,  with  increasing  concern, 
"but  the  last  time  they  let  you  go  in  a  few 
blocks — I  thought  they  always  did."  Yet,  in 
truth,  Alida  had  not  concerned  herself  greatly  in 
the  affairs  of  Edward  Volkert. 

"They  don't  always,"  he  replied,  laconically, 
and  retired  for  a  second  sandwich  like  the  first, 
and  this  time  he  secured  some  coffee,  also  cold. 

' '  I  am  so  sorry, ' '  said  Alida,  truly  repentant  for 
her  selfishness,  "But  I  never  thought;  if  I  had,  I 
should  have  told  Dr.  Van  Gaasbeck  at  once." 

"I'm  mighty  glad  you  didn't,"  the  criminal 
interrupted,  speaking  between  bites ;  "Van  Gaas 
beck  hasn't  pull  enough  to  work  a  grab  bag.  I 
had  the  slickest  lawyer  in  the  bunch.  Big  fat 
fellow  with  a  diamond  that  would  hypnotize  a 
ghost.  He  called  the  cop  a  pachyderm  in  but 
tons,  and  showed  the  judge  a  book  that  said  a 


348    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

gentleman  could  have  fits  wherever  he  pleased. 
Then  he  talked  about  accidental  resemblances, 
and  said  if  people  could  be  locked  up  for  what 
they  looked  like,  half  of  us  would  be  in  the  zoo. 
He  called  my  arrest  an  outrage  on  civilization, 
and  demanded  an  ambulance,  and  almost  cried 
to  think  how  they  had  treated  me,  and  how  my 
distracted  parents  would  feel  about  it." 

"He  must  have  been  very  clever,"  said  Alida, 
"for  of  course  you  know  you  did  behave  out 
rageously.  I  don't  believe  you  realize  what 
trouble  you  might  have  made." 

"Nevermind  that,"  Volkert  interrupted,  hold 
ing  up  a  warning  buckwheat  crescent,  "I  haven't 
time  just  now  for  family  prayers.  The  fact  is, 
I'm  only  out  now  on  a  technicality,  an  oversight, 
that  will  be  corrected  as  soon  as  the  district 
attorney  has  had  his  bath.  I've  got  to  get  across 
the  river,  in  spite  of  a  plain  clothes  man  outside 
who  is  ready  to  bet  I  can't." 

"A  detective!"  gasped  Alida. 

"He  thinks  he  is." 

"Oh,  dear,  what  will  you  do?" 

"I  stopped  at  the  drug  store  and  telephoned 
for  a  Pennsylvania  cab  to  take  me  to  the  Twenty- 
third  Street  ferry." 

"That  was  a  good  idea." 

"Yes,  wasn't  it?  My  foxy  friend  came  in,  too, 
to  consult  the  directory,  and  heard  every  word. 


The  Last  349 

He  thinks  me  easy  fruit.  Would  you  mind 
watching  at  the  front  window  while  I  run  up 
for  my  bag,  and  nodding  to  the  cabman  when 
he  comes?  It's  just  as  well  he  should  not 
ring." 

"Indeed,  I  will  do  everything  I  can,"  Alida 
assented,  willingly. 

When  the  cab  arrived  she  followed  her  instruc 
tions,  and  shrank  back  behind  the  curtain  to 
avoid  the  penetrating  glances  of  an  aggressively 
unobtrusive  person  sauntering  past.  Volkert 
came  back  almost  immediately,  a  little  cleaner 
than  he  had  been,  and  if  possible,  more  hollow- 
eyed.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  dilapidated 
satchel  which  he  exhibited  with  satisfaction. 

"It  contains,"  he  said,  "three  odd  shoes,  a 
tooth  mug,  and  a  broken  concertina — my  contri 
bution  to  the  Mulberry  Street  collection." 

"I  suppose  you  know  what  you  are  going  to 
do,"  she  ventured,  doubtingly. 

"You  bet,"  he  retorted,  with  confidence;  "I 
am  going  to  give  that  fellow  out  there  the  sad 
farewell,  the  gentle  shake,  somewhere  between 
here  and  the  ferry.  Then  I  may  swim  the  river, 
I  may  take  ship  for  Staten  Island  and  cross  the 
Kill  Von  Kull;  at  any  rate  I'm  due  in  Colorado 
as  quick  as  I  can  make  connections." 

"Colorado?" 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  begin  again.     I  have  the 


350    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

needful,  and  a  letter  to  a  party  who  will  make  a 
man  of  me.  I'm  glad  the  contract  is  not  mine. 
Good  by!  I  haven't  another  soul  on  earth  to 
say  good  by  to." 

"But  your  grandmother,"  Alida  reminded  him, 
"surely  you  are  not  going  away  without  seeing 
her!" 

"Grandma  is  asleep,"  he  answered,  doubt 
fully,  then,  as  an  impish  fancy  struck  him,  he 
darted  to  the  red  rep  sofa,  and  catching  up  a 
cushion,  molded  it  into  the  semblance  of  a  human 
head,  having  a  tidy  for  a  night-cap.  It  might 
have  been  a  bit  of  juggler's  hypnotism,  but  in 
the  dimly  lighted  room  the  effigy  certainly  did 
suggest  Grandma  Epps  recumbent. 

"Farewell,  mine  ancient  mentor,  my  venerable 
guardian!"  he  murmured,  stepping  back  a  pace, 
and  looking  down  upon  the  pillow,  tenderly. 
"I  go  but  to  return,  respected,  famous,  rich." 

"Don't  do  it,  Edward,  I  forbid  it!"  came  the 
familiar  tones  of  Grandma  Epps,  and  Volkert, 
hurriedly  recovering  his  satchel,  held  out  a  hand 
toward  Alida. 

"That's  what  it  would  have  been,"  he  told 
her,  lightly;  "that  is  all  there  has  ever  been 
between  the  old  lady  and  me.  Good  by!  I 
suppose  you  will  be  married  long  before  I  see 
you  again.  Good  by!" 

"Good  by,"   replied  Alida,   warmly,   and  not 


The  Last 

without  emotion.  She  had  not  been  a  friend  to 
Edward  Volkert.  She  had  often  snubbed  him 
and  always  disregarded  him  like  the  others  of  his 
world,  and  when  she  saw  him  in  trouble  she  had 
gathered  up  her  skirts  and  passed  by  on  the  other 
side.  Now  the  pathos  of  this  leave-taking  gave 
her  a  pang  not  wholly  undeserved.  After  all, 
was  he  not  of  the  old  stock,  though  swept  aside 
and  trodden  under  by  the  rush  of  newer  life?  Was 
he  not  of  the  blood  that  was  her  boast,  and  was 
not  the  disgrace  he  had  brought  upon  it  hers  in 
part? 

"Tell  me  how  you  ever  came  to  do  it,"  she 
cried,  detaining  him  a  moment;  "tell  me  in  a  few 
words.  I  shall  understand." 

"They  said  it  was  to  be  a  joke,  "  he  answered, 
flushing  while  his  restless  eyes  grew  fixed  and 
intent  on  hers.  "Pat  Rooney  had  a  bet — of 
course  I  would  not  take  a  cent  of  it — I  did  what  I 
did — for  art." 

"Just  one  thing  more,"  Alida  interposed, 
"how  did  you — how  did  they  know  Mr.  Brisbane 
was  to  be  out  of  town?" 

"That's  telling." 

"But  you  must  tell  me,"  she  insisted. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  he  said,  impatient  to  be  off. 
"They  sent  B.  J.  a  fake  dispatch,  some  cipher 
that  would  be  sure  to  fetch  him.  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Now,  are  you  satisfied?" 


352     The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Alida  had  expected  to  learn  of  some  trickery 
among  the  vulgar  employees  of  the  theater,  some 
plot  of  prying  footmen;  she  was  not  prepared  for 
this. 

"Satisfied?"  she  repeated,  quietly,  "no, 
Edward,  I  am  not ;  there  was  but  one  person  who 
could  have  betrayed  that  cipher,  and  that  was 
his  secretary." 

"Serena?"  demanded  Volkert,  blankly.  He 
was  an  actor  but  this  was  not  acting.  "Why  she 
is  in  Montreal.  She  takes  the  soubrette  in  the 
traveling  'Mr.  Nobody,'  and  they  open  there  to 
night,  so  Rooney  says." 

"Rooney?" 

"Yes,  he  is  their  advance.  She  is  Serena 
Sandys  now. " 

Alida  stood  a  moment  trying  to  collect  her 
thoughts.  And  so  Serena  had  achieved  the  bits 
of  colored  glass  she  called  her  jewels,  leaving 
her  father's  name  to  be  remembered  in  the  Home 
for  Gentlewomen.  And  before  her  Edward  Vol 
kert  waited  her  permission  to  be  gone,  a  fugitive. 
Was  there  to  be  none  of  them  left?  Was  there 
no  just  man  among  them?  No,  not  one? 

"God  knows  what  I  should  have  done  without 
your  help,  Alida,"  said  Volkert,  speaking 
solemnly,  after  a  pause  between  them.  But  even 
as  he  spoke  the  words  from  his  heart,  he  could 
not  restrain  a  gesture  of  the  arm,  a  clenching  of 


The  Last 

the  fist  accompanying  them,  an  inflection  in  the 
voice  which  made  them  ring  less  true. 

"Without  me?"  sheaskedhim,  in  bewilderment. 

"Yes,  you  or  the  man  you  are  to  marry.  He 
would  never  have  come  to  get  me  out  if  you  had 
not  sent  him. " 

"Edward,"  she  confessed,  contritely,  "I  did 
not  send  him." 

"Well,  then,  he  came  himself,"  he  answered, 
with  a  laugh.  "It's  all  the  same.  I'm  glad  you've 
such  a  fellow  to  look  after  you,  Alida,  and  I'm 
mighty  glad  you  are  to  have  the  forty  million. " 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 

"Well,  you  have  got  more  time  to  find  out  than 
I  have  to  stand  here  talking.  Good  by,  Alida, 
you're  a  brick!  I'll  send  you  back  a  horned 
toad  by  mail;  they  live  on  flies." 

"Good  by.      Good  luck." 

The  front  door  closed,  sending  a  tinkling 
shiver  through  the  crystals  of  the  chandelier,  and 
Edward  Volkert,  grotesque  and  irresponsible  to 
the  last,  struck  out  upon  the  Sunset  Trail  with 
three  odd  shoes,  a  tooth  mug,  and  a  broken 
concertina;  and  a  lighter  heart  never  tricked  a 
turnkey  since  Tubal  Cain  made  iron  bars. 

Alida  watched  the  cab  drive  away  and  noted 
that  the  plain  clothes  man  was  not  in  sight.  Per 
haps  he  had  gone  on  ahead  to  the  ferry. 


354    The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers 

Through  the  dimness  of  the  Ruggles  parlor, 
Chancellor  De  Vos  looked  sternly  at  the  Lady 
with  a  Rose — attributed  to  Sully;  the  painted 
sloops  of  the  Hudson  River  School  lay  idly  be 
calmed.  Wherever  the  cold  light  fell,  it  showed 
some  frayed  edge  of  the  red  rep  furniture,  dis 
closed  some  faded  patch  of  carpet,  some  scratch 
upon  the  red  mahogany  doors. 

Kenilworth  Place  is  quiet  in  the  morning,  so 
quiet  that  one  can  hear  the  hoofs  of  horses  on 
the  asphalt  as  they  turn  the  corner  from  Fifth 
Avenue.  And  now  Alida  heard  them  coming 
nearer,"  coming  near;  well  broken  horses  stepping 
in  unison,  wonderful  horses,  bringing  the  tribute 
of  the  Cattle  Trust,  bringing  the  glory  of  the 
world,  and  the  pride  of  life — and  something  more 
beside  to  which  the  rest  was  nothing.  Slowly 
she  crossed  to  the  piano,  and  sitting  down  before 
it,  touched  the  yellow  keys. 

"And  have  you  been  to  Borderland?" 
she  sang. 

"  Some  day  together,  hand  in  hand, 
I'll  take  you  there,  to  Borderland, 

Beside  the  river  I  forget. 
Some  day  when  all  our  dreams  come  true, 
One  kiss  for  me  and  one— 
If  Alida  did  not  finish  the  song  it  was  for  a 
very  good  reason. 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY,  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


(f\ 


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